


Postcards

by witchesdiner



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Coming of Age, Gen, Ghosts, Parental Stan, mentions of religious stuff, stan punching problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-03-13 02:59:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3365207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchesdiner/pseuds/witchesdiner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some kind of Soos coming of age story. </p><p>There's a ghost following Soos. Just who are they and what do they want with a kid who just wants to fix some things?</p><p>(Formerly titled "Postcards and Light Up Sneakers")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day Off

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted here from my fanfiction account (currently BecauseHeroesNeverDie). Decided to try this site out, since everybody has recommended it to me. 
> 
> Note: I named Soos' grandma and mom! Abuelita is called Alba and his mom is called Arcelia!!

Soos was getting in line with the other kids for their weekly fluoride treatment when the PA system crackled to life.

"Will Jesús Ramirez come to the office, please. Jesús Ramirez to the office," Principal Yi droned. She didn't sound too interested but Soos was glad that she always took the time to pronounce his name right. He decided to grab the bouncy ball from his bag before heading out.

"Ohhh, Soos did something bad," Amira stage-whispered, sending the class into giggles. Soos turned to smile at the rest of the class and waved as he headed out the door.

* * *

His Abuelita was sitting in the office, her daisy-print dress clashing with the muted decor.

"Hello, Abuela!" Soos greeted cheerfully. Then very seriously he held up one finger, "Wait a second."

He walked over to the secretary's desk and stood on his tiptoes. He dropped the red rubber ball and watched it roll toward her.

"For Principal Yi. She needs it more than I do."

"Thank you, Soos," the secretary smiled, catching the ball before it rolled over the edge of the counter and standing up to hand it off to the principal.

"Let us go, Soos."

* * *

"Do I really get the whole day off, Abuela?" To say that Soos's eyes were the size of the moon would be a gross exaggeration. They were much bigger.

Alba nodded, a tiny smile gracing her lips.

"Oh boy! I get to go to my favorite restaurant and I don't have to go back to class!" He grinned, swinging his legs. His sneakers smacked into the wood paneling under the booth seats and he looked down, admiring the disco light show his sneakers were putting on. One Hello Kitty sneaker for his right foot and Spider-man for his left. He'd gotten two pairs of shoes as early birthday gifts and he hadn't been able to decide which to start wearing. Both seemed like the best idea to him.

"Why don't you go play for a bit? I think it will take awhile for our orders to come." It was a Thursday and the place was deserted. It was okay if the pizza was lukewarm by the time Soos remembered he was hungry. He'd still love it. And she'd end up ordering more later anyway. Soos jumped out of his seat and ran off into the glittering maze of Hoo-Ha's Game Zone.

It did not pass Alba's seasoned abuelita-sense that Soos did not ask what day it was this year.

* * *

Alba discovered a postcard in the mailbox. She was glad Soos had already gone in the house but was prepared to hide the card in a coupon magazine at the slightest sign of movement. Unable to quell her curiosity, she found herself reading it.

_This time of year always leaves me thinking of our loss. Your daughter was a beautiful woman and I'm happy we got the chance to know her for as long as we did._

"Then why don't you come here and love the child she left behind?" Alba huffed, ripping the Golden Gate Bridge in half. She tossed the postcard in the trash as she walked through the door.

"Soos, I'm gonna make some dinosaur cookies!"


	2. The Visit

It was about time that they stopped pretending they didn't know what day it was. Alba dragged herself down the hall, feeling like she'd break through the floorboards.

"Soos!" she stopped halfway down the hall to call out, "Come down; we're taking the truck to visit Arcelia."

"I'll be right out!" There was a loud crash, followed by several smaller thuds and thumps and a faint, but clearly enthused "I'm okay!"

Alba merely smiled in response, making a mental note to tell him to clean up his room later. It was clearly that time of the month again. She would tell him that he had to do it all on his own, to practice for the "real world," but she'd be in helping him before he could get all of his socks off of the floor.

"I'm ready! Let's go!" Soos thundered down the hall, his shoes flashing red and pink.

"No shoes in the house, Soos," she chided as the boy zipped past her. The paper trailing from his hand brushed against her as he went. She raised her hands in a theatrical display of defeat, turning around to follow her grandson. "The deed is done."

* * *

Soos followed Abuelita into the truck. She pulled herself into the driver's seat and he settled in next to her. Some of the kids he went to class with laughed at their truck. He'd asked Raoul what was so funny and he'd shrugged and said some people thought it was weird for tiny old ladies to drive big trucks. Soos thought it suited her, steely gray with a powerful, growling engine. Hadn't they ever seen her when the cashier gave her the wrong lotto ticket at the gas station?

The warning above his head said that he wasn't supposed to sit in front until he was thirteen years of age. He wasn't, but Abuelita had told him that it was okay. He was close enough, she'd reasoned, and anyway they'd say he was thirteen if Blubs and Durland stopped them. They were too wrapped up in each other to be of much use, giggling at their own jokes over the cop radio instead of catching whoever was stealing Lazy Susan's pies.

Soos couldn't believe he was going to be twelve soon. It was two months away but he was already excited. He liked the way twelve looked, the curve of the two, the weight of another year of double digits. He would be twelve, as many years as there were months in the year, eggs in a dozen, and cookies you could make with a pack of Chapman's cookie dough if you made some of them a little smaller.

It might have been a bit early, but he was already planning the party. He'd designed invitations on one of the library's computers and printed out exactly two copies. He would get the other ten he needed at the copier store. He was going to ask Abuelita to mail an invitation to his dad. Soos was sure the man already knew when his birthday was and was likely undertaking an epic cross-country roadtrip to make it in time at that very moment, but he figured he might need a reminder. And Soos was proud of how they'd come out and wanted him to see, maybe ruffle his hair and say "great job, son." Something like that.

He kicked at the glove compartment, reassured by the light of his sneakers.

"So, what have you got there?" Abuelita twisted in her seat to look at him.

"I made it for mom!" Soos waved around the ribbon he'd made so she could see it. He'd stapled Hoo-Ha's Fun Tickets(™) together to make a big bow with two trailing tails. It had taken around forty tickets. He'd come up with the idea while lounging in the play palace, staring down at the tables and games from behind a bubble. He hadn't been able to get the jumping frog toy he'd wanted but he thought this was nicer.

"It's very nice, Soos." Abuelita reached across the seat to ruffle his hair. The car wobbled to the side and her hands quickly returned to the steering wheel.

* * *

Abuelita removed the plastic from the bouquet of daisies in her hands and laid them down on the grave.

"For you, Arcelia," she said softly. She kissed her index and middle fingers then laid them on the stone. She side-stepped away and hovered on the edge of the plot, pulling out a rosary from her pocket and counting prayers on its smooth red beads.

"Hey, mom," Soos breathed, taking tiny steps forward. They were so careful, so tiny that his shoes didn't light up at all. He placed the ticket bow over Abuelita's daisies. "I got you this bow- I made it myself!"

He pulled a creased piece of paper from his pocket and looked down at it. His brow wrinkled, unsure of whether or not he should leave the paper behind. Before he could change his mind, he slipped it underneath the flowers so it wouldn't blow away.

"And I know you can't come, but I wanted you to see."

Soos stood up and looked down at the offerings. The wind picked up, pulling the paper open. There was an explosion on the front, along with a handful of carefully-chosen words and exclamation points. **"Soos is gonna be 12!!! We gonna party like it's his birthday!!!!"** As he turned to face Abuelita, he swore he felt a gentle hand brush his cheek.

Must've been the wind.


	3. The Windowman

Two months felt like it was taking two million forevers, but time did what it does best and, day by day, it passed. The wait was made easier when the packages started coming in. Since Soos' family was spread out over two continents, they mailed their gifts. The presents were strange as they didn't know him well but Soos found he didn't mind. 

They sent odds and ends. Socks, a couple pairs of sneakers, bouncing balls, money taped into cards shaped like twelves. 

His favorite gift had to be the one from Aunt Carolina. She'd sent a small box with a several packages of Spanish and Japanese candies, a journal with a satisfyingly squishy cover, and a knotted bracelet nestled in glittery wrapping paper. When he'd opened the accompanying card, a picture had fallen out. The note on the back informed him that it was of Aunt Carolina herself, her husband, and her two children. They were at a beach and all wearing the same lime-green visors. The card read "Happy Birthday, Soos. Hope you have a wonderful year! God bless, Auntie Carolina. P.S. I made the bracelet myself!" Something about the way it all came together made Soos smile. 

He'd tucked the picture into the front of the journal, which he was keeping on top of all the stuff on his desk. During the day, Soos would occasionally stop to look at the bright green raptor on the cover rearing up on its hind legs and roaring. He would press his hand against the cover and watch the plastic sink, then pull it away and watch the cover rise again. It would go up and down and up again like it was breathing. He was glad that Aunt Carolina had remembered that he loved dinosaurs. 

He didn't mind his family not being around when they seemed so thoughtful. 

* * *

"So, what're you gonna do when school gets out?" Raoul started the moment he'd reached Soos' spot on the bus. He dumped his backpack on the seat, his rear end soon following suit.

"I don't know yet," Soos said, frowning. Raoul was starting to get pushy about summer plans. When Soos wasn't thinking about his birthday, he didn't mind that summer was far off.

"That's okay, but we need to start making plans soon. And one or both of us needs to think about a job if we're gonna get to go to the waterpark…" Raoul was the plan man and Soos let him figure it out. He knew that in the coming weeks, his friend would have summer checklists prepared for both of them. 

"Wait a minute, dude, I've got something for you. It's, like, a surprise, so keep those eyes closed!" Raoul's eyes snapped shut. Soos rifled through his backpack and pulled out a fistful of unopened trading card packs. He rushed to pick off the backpack-bottom dust and thrust the pile into his friend's outstretched hands. "Open your eyes, dude!"

"Whoa! These are for me- you can't be serious?!" Raoul stared at him like he was the second coming of Christ. 

"Yep," Soos nodded, "My cousins Jorge and Mickey in Ohio sent them to me. They didn't know I don't play the game so they sent me, like, a ton. I knew you liked the game, so I thought you'd want 'em."

"This is wild, bro! I mean, you kept some for yourself, right?"

Soos nodded again. He was impressed with the shiny foil packaging and had decided to let himself open a pack or two. He'd taped a couple of cards on his wall, because he liked the way they looked. His Abuelita said that the things you put on your walls protected you. The living room, hallways, and her bedroom were protected by the dream team- Soos and Jesus. Soos' room was protected by dragons, dinosaurs, and fairies.

He liked the way they looked on his walls, but he thought he liked the face Raoul made when he got some cards a little better. 

For the rest of the ride, he listened to his friend debate on how he was going to restructure his decks based on his new haul. He nodded in the right places, staring out the bus window. There was a man following along the bus route, jumping from tree to tree and balancing along the telephone wires like an expert trapeze artist.

He looked a lot like the man in the pictures that his Abuelita hid.

* * *

"You drawing Mr. Pines?" Amira asked him in art class, hovering behind him and poking his shoulder. 

"Yeah."

"Why?" Amira did not ask to sit with him, she just sat down.

"Well, Mrs. Beleprise says we gotta draw people from town and-"

"Okay, cool. Real reason."

"I dunno, I think he's really cool…" Soos rubbed his chin, deep in thought. He loved to visit the Mystery Shack and listen to Mr. Pines talk about the wonders of the universe. He felt like a character in a video game when he went on tours, learning about mystical items that could aid him on his quest. "He knows everything… Like a wise sage guy from _Mystic Fantasy_!"

"I don't know…" Amira's nose wrinkled, "He looks a little more like a Disney villain to me."

"You shouldn't talk about grown-ups like that! Somebody's gonna…"

"You misunderstand me, young one. He's weird-looking and mean, but I think he's kinda cool, too. And," Amira allowed for a dramatic pause, leaning toward him and cupping her mouth with one hand, "I think he's on to something. This town  _is_ weird. Majorly."

"Go away, Amira," Raoul said with gritted teeth, settling in on Soos' other side, "And stop spreading lies."

"I'm not spreading lies, I haven't even said anything good yet." She turned back to Soos, "So, have you heard of the Windowman?"

"The who?" he asked, ignoring Raoul's loud groaning.

"Not this again!" 

"Y'know how sometimes you see someone following along with you when you're looking out the car window? Well, it's not your imagination! There's a real guy walking on the wires."

"Really? I think I saw him on the bus ride this morning!" Soos' eyes widened, realization striking him.

"You did not. We were sitting together and you didn't say anything. Don't encourage-"

"He looked like my dad. Do you think he  _is_ my dad?"

"I don't think so…" she frowned, picking at a pin in her hijab. "I saw a big alligator and Courtney says she saw a giant Barbie and Eric… Well, it doesn't matter. I've conducted serious studies and made a complete survey of the class and everyone sees something different."

"Oh."

"I'm gonna add your answer to my survey, thank you for your service, vigilant citizen," she said in a mock professional voice, getting up from her seat, "And Raoul, according to my survey, you're our only nonbeliever. Open your eyes, man."

"I cannot believe her," Raoul huffed, aggressively digging his nails into his eraser.

"I think she's-"

"Come on, Amira's always lying about that junk, Soos. Making up weird stuff and when you ask her about it again she doesn't even remember!"

"Dude, I saw-"

"I'm not going to talk about that fake stuff. If you want to lie all the time too, you can go be best friends with Amira!"

"It's not-"

"Just no."

* * *

School was winding to an end and Soos was praying for the summer. Anything was better than this awkwardness. Bus rides had become especially tense since the art class fiasco. Soos stared out the window while Raoul sulked at his side. He wished he hadn't given him all of the extra cards already, so he could give him more and he and Raoul could be friends again. He'd tried to pull a couple off the wall but the backs had torn off in strips. He didn't think a few ripped up reject cards would make him smile like before.

Soos watched his dad run across the wires.

If Amira was right, It wasn't his dad but it also wasn't Soos' imagination.

Something strange was going on in Gravity Falls. 

* * *

Raoul was thoroughly miserable not talking to Soos. sure, he still followed him around and sat next to him in every class, but it was different. He had to stop himself from laughing when his best friend made good jokes and spent lunchtime staring at his food. Chicken patties were only so interesting, but more importantly he had big plans for the summer and no one to talk to about them.

He had to make things better with Soos. But how was he supposed to do that without admitting he was wrong? He was _not_ wrong. 

The breaking point for Raoul's indomitable will came during math class. It was quiz day and he always, always forgot his pencil on quiz day. If he was Amira, he would be certain it was some kind of conspiracy.

"Can I have a pencil?" he whispered to Soos, breaking his vow of semi-silence.

"Uh, sure." Soos handed him a pencil with dinosaurs on it, which Raoul knew was one of his best.

"Look," he sighed, taking the dinosaur-plastered olive branch. "I'm sorry about this whole thing. We should talk again."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Soos reassured him, flashing a smile and raising two thumbs up.

He couldn't believe it had been that simple. He grinned and looked down at his math test, no longer fearing for his social situation.

Looking over the page, he realized that In all the chaos, he'd forgotten to study.

Shoot.

* * *

Summer started and continued and they hadn't done anything on Raoul's list. Soos had barely even seen his friend. They'd had a couple of epic squirt gun wars, but hadn't done much else. Raoul had summer camp most days, but Abuelita couldn't afford to send Soos.

Mostly, Soos didn't mind. He liked the adventures he had with Abuela, trips to the grocery and the hairdresser, tea at her friends' houses. Photo albums he'd never be able to puzzle out and cats that were starting to like him. He played video games in his room during the evening and poked his head out the window to look at the stars when it got dark. He swore he saw eyes watching him from the woods, glowing slightly and winking at him. They were like a second set of stars, the woods like the sky tipped on its side.

He made up constellations in the second sky, squares, rhombuses, the occasional triangle. He had trouble coming up with stories for them. The only thing that struck him was that a god had dumped his geometry homework in Gravity Falls.

He had trouble praying so he talked out the window before bed, to the stars, to the eyes.

"You think Dad's gonna come to my birthday party? It's coming up real soon and he's gotta be on the road right now. He hasn't come before but this year's different. I haven't been twelve before."

He settled down in his bed, the wind from the window he didn't close rustling his curtains and ruffling his hair.

"He's gonna come."

* * *

Alba said she would take Soos anywhere he liked before his birthday party, knowing what he would pick before she'd even asked. Of course, the Mystery Shack had a new attraction opening that day.

She stood with the tour group, showing the utmost self restraint. No eyerolls, no tip-tapping foot. She listened, sneaking peeks at Soos' awe-struck face. He was loving every minute and she could enjoy that even if she couldn't appreciate the wax figures of celebrities she didn't recognize or the animal carcasses unceremoniously sewn, taped, glued together.

She was on edge, worried that Soos would be miserable when his stupid father let him down once again. She could suffer through anything as long as it made Soos happy, Stan Pines included.

She smiled at the two kids who gave Soos a couple of candy bars. She rifled through her purse, finding nothing but two sticks of winter mint gum to give them in return. They said it was no problem and rushed off.

Alba was glad for any good the day brought and each bright thing brought a tense smile to her lips. She watched Soos carefully, ready for the earth to crack open underneath them, the sun to go dark, explosions to go off all around them. 

When postcard that came in the mail later that day it did not surprise her. Not one bit.

* * *

Soos stared into the shoebox full of postcards and focused on not crying.

 _Sorry Champ_. His dad hadn't even written his name. The letter was addressed to Jesús. Everyone, even forgetful Aunt Carmen who could never remember how old he was, knew that he liked to be called Soos. But, his own dad didn't know. His dad didn't know his shoe size (8), his favorite color (fuchsia tiger stripes at the moment), or how many points he could rack up in Nort on a good day (2,618). His dad didn't even know what he looked like.

Soos dumped himself in his bed, pulling the covers around himself. He knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep with the sun streaming in through his window.

He waited, twisting restlessly in bed. He thought of getting up, of going back to the party or at least pushing a tape into his VCR and watching videos until his brain became as fuzzy as the parts where nothing was recorded and the tv sputtered and buzzed, trying to offer up more sounds and images, but having nothing to give.

Why didn't his dad want to see him? Eight years was a long time and it was only getting longer. On the last Fun Fact Friday of the school year, Principal Yi had announced that every seven years, the cells in the body are completely replaced.

"That means," she'd continued in her usual drone, "That each and every one of us is an entirely new person every seven years! This has been Fun Fact Friday."

How many new people were they going to go through before his dad wanted to see him? What if he didn't want to see him anymore because he was one of the new people? What if these new people were really aliens slowly replacing all of humanity, one cell at a time? 

Soos guessed that it didn't matter. Just like he didn't matter.

* * *

Soos tried not to look up at the telephone wires when he was sitting next to Abuelita in the truck. He stared down at the tree trunks, kept his eyes on the road ahead, or rummaged around in the glove box.

"Do you like your new job?" Abuelita asked one day as they made their way to the supermarket.

"Yeah! It's awesome," Soos chirped. Thinking about his job brought him out of his darkest moods. He was having such a good time, even if he was just repairing the golf cart and sweeping the Shack's floors. He smiled to himself, turning to look out the window again. Despite what he'd promised himself, he found his eyes drawn to the skyline.

Mr. Pines was balancing on the telephone wire, his bulky form cutting into the bright blue sky. He was whistling and swinging his cane around. Soos blinked and the image remained. It didn't make any sense, because he knew for certain that Mr. Pines was afraid of heights. Looked like Amira's Windowman was back.

He found himself laughing as the fake Mr. Pines scrambled from tree to tree.

"What's so funny?"

 


	4. Fixin' it?

There was never any need to set an alarm clock in the Ramirez house. Alba Rosa Ramirez was up before the roosters, the sun, and, somehow, Old Man McGucket. She had been an early riser since the summers she had spent as a young girl helping her aunt and uncle on their farm. There were no cows to milk or eggs to gather here, but there was still tea to put on and bacon to fry. 

So, at five thirty am, Alba rose from her bed, bones creaking in protest. She grabbed a long, lumpy pillow from her bed and pulled a rosary from a crude pocket in the middle. Soos had made her a kneeler in his Home Economics class last year. She had waved him off, telling him that she didn't need anything so luxurious, her knees could handle the linoleum floor just fine, but she liked it all the same. Alba placed it on the floor in front of her and knelt for her morning prayers. 

"Please, Maria, look after my Soos. He is good. Do not let him get into trouble. Do not let others step on him or use his kindness wrongly," she started off, wrapping the beads around her hands. She counted off her prayers, beads passing through her fingers one after another. "Amen."

She pulled herself up some twenty minutes later. Quietly, she remade her bed and then left the room.

She was still trying to figure out the perfect time to wake Soos up for his work. Alba was not sure how, but Soos had left the house with a screwdriver and one shoe falling off of his foot and had come back with a job. 

She put the kettle on the stove, humming to herself. The oven clock read 6:00 AM. She got him up around this time for school, so it would not be unreasonable to start calling for him now. She'd wait for a few minutes between each call and in twenty minutes or so she'd knock on his door and make him eat something for breakfast.

"Soos!" Alba called, as she settled at the table with a plate of toast and a chipped royal doulton teacup.

"Abuela, I'm ready! When are we going?" Soos was at the table a record fifteen minutes early. He ran around the room in a flurry, hurrying over to the the fridge and pulling out the apple juice. 

"Have some of toast." She peeled off the second paper plate that was stuck to her own and handed it to him.

"Thanks!" Soos smiled, then went straight to work.

"Calm down, Soos," Alba snapped. She continued, trying to soothe his nerves and make sure he didn't think she was mad. "Mr. Pines isn't going to move away while we eat breakfast."

"Okie dookie!"

She took a sip of tea and smiled. Mornings were so lovely. 

* * *

Soos had pretended to calm down when Abuelita had asked him to, but he simply could not. The world was buzzing and he was a round little bee humming along to the summer's song. And the summer's song was fast and golden and wonderful. He had gotten up at five thirty am but he didn't tell Abuelita because she would have told him to go back to bed.

His Mystery Shack staff shirt was hung over his bed and it wasn't the first thing he saw (the ceiling) or the second (the cards on his wall), but it felt like the first real thing that had ever existed. He had put it on, imagining a chorus of angels singing and a heavenly beam of light falling on him from an open window nestled in the ceiling that was not there.

In actuality, the room had been silent except for the occasional woodpecker call that floated in through the open window.

Abuelita sat across the table from him, drinking her tea and handing him pieces of toast. He slathered them with strawberry jam and tried to eat as slowly as possible. In his head, he was flying out the door, over the treetops, to his first day of work at the most magical place in the known and unknown universe, the Mystery Shack.

* * *

Soos flew out of the car like a pinball pushed by one of those pinball pushing things and Alba waved until he was out of her sight. She shook her head, her lips falling back into a contemplative frown. She turned the truck around and drove away.

Back at home, she wandered the hallway, vacuum in hand. It would be much easier to clean up Soos' room without Soos around. She hovered in front of his door, staring down the scraps of paper taped to the wood. There were new pictures, ones he must have put up in the past two or three days. One picture was of the two kids who had been nice enough to give Soos candy on his birthday. She squinted at the picture, frustrated at her inability to place them. They must have been tourists. Another was of Mr. Pines walking on telephone wires and entertaining a large and fairly elaborately illustrated crowd of locals. There were several rough crayon drawings of that broken down shack and the awful shyster running it.

She prayed that the man would not let Soos down, but it seemed inevitable. He was rude, conniving, and absolutely disgusting. Yet some strange force had possessed him to hire her sweet grandson and she almost dared to wonder if it was kindness. She snorted at the thought and pushed open the door, the vacuum dragging behind her.

She would certainly have a word with that Stan Pines.

* * *

"Good morning, Mr. Pines!" Soos chirped as the screen door snapped shut behind him.

"Oh! Uh, 'morning, kid," Mr. Pines grumbled from behind the cash register. His jacket was flung on the chair behind him, his fez was askew, and his eyepatch was dangling from his left hand. He stared up at Soos blankly for a moment, mouth hanging open. He quickly realigned his fez and tossed his jacket on. The elastic in his eyepatch made a snapping sound as it fell over his right eye. "Show time."

"What am I doing today?" Soos chanced, fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

"Well, the cart needs looking at and there's a leak in the kitchen… sweep until Snake Tattoo Guy gets here. And by sweep I mean… well, I, uh, I mean sweep but also watch the shop. I need to get ready." With that Mr. Pines waltzed off through a curtain marked Employees Only, a book tucked under his arm.

"Roger that, Mr. Pines!"

Soos was just finishing up his first-ever work assignment when a large man covered in snake tattoos entered the front door.

"Good morning!" He called out to him. Snake Tattoo Guy nodded and sat behind the register without a word.

"Weather's nice, right?" The man remained silent.

"I hear that thirty percent of Gravity Falls' cow population are actually aliens, what do you think?" A snort- that was encouraging. Soos paused, digging for something else to say. "What do aliens want with those cows anyway? Are they making cosmic milkshakes? Do they need it to make the perfect grilled cheese sandwiches? Or mayonnaise?"

"You don't make mayonnaise with milk," the man suddenly spoke, his voice surprisingly soft.

"What?"

"You make it with like… oil an' eggs, I think," he tapped his chin as he spoke.

"Oh, okay. Then they better start going after the chickens at the petting zoo, too!"

Snake Tattoo Guy laughed, then added, "They can take all o' those demons, if they want. I won' miss 'em."

"Aw, but what about mayonnaise, sir?"

Snake Tattoo Guy was once again without words and remained as such for the rest of the day. Soos didn't take offense to this; talking could be really hard sometimes. He smiled at the man every time he entered the gift shop. More often than not, the man smiled back.

Soos didn't know how to fix anything yet, so he mostly looked at the things Mr. Pines told him to look at. The pipe under the sink leaked and Soos watched. The golf cart made a strange, sickly gargling roar and Soos listened.

He wrapped the pipe in electrical wire and thought about the puffy dinosaur journal on his desk. He supposed he wouldn't be ruining Auntie Carolina's gift if he wrote notes on how to fix things in it. Soos decided that he would be going to the library later to take out a couple books about plumbing and mechanics.

There was no way he was going to mess up and lose this job. If something needed fixing, then Soos was going to fix it.

He just needed to know _how_ first. 

* * *

Alba had not made a list of all of the things she expected Soos to say to her when he got in the truck, but if she had "Could you please, please take me to the library, Abuela?" would not be anywhere on it.

She paused a moment, her eyebrows shooting up into her perm. However, all she said was "Alright,  _mijo_ " and headed straight to the library.

"Thanks!" Soos chirped. He turned away from her and rolled the window down.

"Don't put your head out there," she chided, not even glancing in his direction but simply  _knowing_  what he was up to.

"Noted." The sound of the window being cranked up filled the silence. There was no heavy thud, so he had not entirely closed the window. The wind made a whip-whistling sound as it passed through the crack. "Are you gonna come in too?"

"No, I have something else," she said, a smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"Oh, alright. Are you gonna look for me or do I get to walk home? Is that a yes I'm hearing about walking home? It's totally a yes."

"If that's what you want,  _mijo_."

"Sweet!" A pudgy fist was thrust into the air.

"Well, you stay as long as you like but be home at six, understand?"

"Okay!" Soos was out of the car in no time and Alba was grinning at the little crucifix hanging from the rearview mirror. The Lord had handed her the perfect opportunity to give Stan Pines a stern talking to and she was not about to waste it.

* * *

Giant, and possibly angry, towers of knowledge loomed over Soos and he had the audacity to return their stare. Or at least he squinted up at one book with an eye adorning its spine in what he considered to be a threatening manner. Still the stacks would not yield their knowledge unto him. He frowned, running a hand along the spines and picking out a book with the rather promising title  _If You Can't Fix the Sink Then How Can You Be Expected to Fix Your Own Life_. He glanced over the table of contents, already feeling in over his head. He imagined the faucet in the Mystery Shack bursting open and flooding the kitchen. He tried to fight it, fruitlessly whipping a mop around and swallowing dirty water…

"We don't read books here!" A hand was placed on Soos' shoulder. He jumped, dropping the book and turning to face whoever was trying to talk to him.

"Old Man McGucket!" he gasped, reaching down to pick up his book.

"Ya won't find true knowledge there- no, ya won't!" The man slapped the book out of his hands. "Can't get nothing from book learnin' that ya can't get with yer own hands."

"Do you know anything about fixing sinks and golf carts?" Soos asked, finding himself strangely calm. Sure, Abuelita said to stay away from Old Man McGucket and he had just made him drop the book he'd been looking at twice, but he didn't see any harm in asking.

"O' course! An' I can make 'em better too!" Old Man McGucket flashed him a toothy grin and started running down the aisle. "Come on over here and I'll learn ya well."

"Why not?" Soos shrugged, following him through the stacks.

* * *

Stanford Pines wiped the sweat off his brow with a dirty jacket sleeve. He scanned the gift shop- the last tour scheduled for the day was over, the kid was long gone, and Snake Tattoo Guy had just headed out. There was absolutely no reason for him to believe that he would be anything other than completely alone until the next day. He locked the front door.

His gaze shifted from the vending machine to the living room, deliberating. He began to hobble across the room, leaning much more heavily on his cane then he would if anyone could see him. As he placed his hand on the keys of the vending machine, there was a knock at the door. He froze. If it was one of those damn government men, he swore to  _God_  he was going to-

"Yes, hello, Mr. Pines. I must talk with you."

Unless the government had started using old ladies to do their dirty work (those _monsters_!), he was safe for now. He let out a gust of air and walked to the door.

"H-hello, m'am," he managed. It was not as suave as he would have liked, but it was something. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I'm Soos' grandmother and I just wanted to talk to you."

"Alright, what's up?" Stanford Pines could handle one tiny granny. This situation was totally- and suddenly he found himself being pulled forward by his lapels. "H-hey!"

"Look. Soos is a good, sweet child. Do not hurt him or disappoint him or suddenly pack up your awful business one day without a word." She pushed him away.

He brushed off his suit, absolutely bewildered. He knew he didn't have the best reputation, but he didn't think he deserved to be threatened in his own home.

"You don't make him feel bad, okay?" The woman raised a fist. "Understood?"

"Crystal clear," he sputtered.

Soos' grandmother slammed his own door in his face. He stood in the doorway for a moment, mouth agape, before retreating to the living room.

He was going to need to think this one over for a bit.


	5. A ghost in the wax museum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan punches some wax figures and Soos is concerned about ghosts.

Stanford Pines was a creature of the night. He did his best thinking after the sun went down, he would insist if anyone asked. Well, they didn’t ask, but he said it anyway. He liked talking, the way his words came out like rough sandpaper, the way his neverending string of lies smoothed away the worrying truths that stuffed up his head.

He didn’t like the way his body was wearing down on him, forcing him go to sleep earlier and earlier. He ran his hands down his face and reached for his coffee mug.

“I’m just getting better and better,” he lied to himself, chugging his lukewarm coffee. “Ugh, this is terrible.”

A loud crash sounded from outside the door. Stan tensed, hands uselessly throttling his mug. He set it on the table, wincing at the sound it made. Gingerly, he tugged the desk drawer open. Within laid a small pistol, its ornately decorated silver plating glinting in the lamplight.

The safety hadn’t been switched off.

He could’ve punched himself in the face. He was supposed to be more careful with that kid running around all the time. He’d told the kid his office was off limits but kids were stupid.

He would to clean up the place later, he decided.

He grabbed the gun and eased himself out of his chair. He put an ear to the door, adjusting the pistol to fit comfortably in his hands. The sound of amiable chatter floated from the other side of the door. Hesitantly, he open it.

“What in Sam Hill is this?” he breathed. Wax Coolio was waltzing with Wax Sherlock Holmes. Wax Lizzie Borden was using her axe as a croquet mallet, smacking it roughly against a stray plastic eyeball. 

How wonderful, the wax figures were alive.  

“Don’t scuff up my eyeballs, Borden! Those are genuine hand-blown glass!” Stan hollered, waving his gun in the air. He could have gone for a subtler approach, but it would be boring if he did that. 

Wax Lizzie Borden threw her axe over her shoulder and resumed her cold, murderous (more like constipated) glare. The other wax figures followed suit, freezing up in their daytime positions.

“You can’t pull a fast one on old Stan Pines, you dumb… dummies! Well, technically you’re wax figures but- y’know what this is… stupid,” Stan groaned, fiddling with the pistol in his hands. He flicked the safety on and stepped amidst the wax figures. “I’m sure you can’t help this whole… being alive thing, so I’m not gonna bother ya about that but I’m laying down the law here. You don’t damage my exhibits, you don’t touch anything, you don’t get seen. Got it?”

He paced around the figures, shooting a glare at each one as he went. No response.

“Now, scram!” Stan shouted. Of course, they didn’t move. That would make his life easier and the universe wasn’t prepared to give free handouts. Well, if he were the universe, he wouldn’t either. It was just good business. Good, dirty business.

“So, we’re doing it the hard way?” Stan picked up Wax Coolio and started dragging him back to the Wax Museum. There was no sign of movement behind him. “You could at least put yourselves away. Save an old man the trouble…”

Stan quit after three figures, already sweating through his shirt. Upon returning to his office, he traded his pistol for a cold cup of coffee. He poured the cup out in the sink as he passed through the kitchen. He eyed the television set for a moment, before sighing and entering his bedroom. 

He went to bed three hours earlier than usual, the dulcet tones of those wax devils singing “Gangsta’s Paradise” lulling him to sleep as the moon climbed the sky.

* * *

 “I think yer ready to take ‘er on,” Old Man McGucket had said, reverently laying a braided ring of rat tails around Soos’ neck. “These here rat tails represent yer know-ledge.”

“Is this cool?” Soos had asked, looking around for an audience that wasn’t there. “It’s cool, right?”

McGucket hadn’t responded. He’d caught sight of his reflection and started hollering at it.

“Mr. McGucket sir?” Soos tried, fiddling with his bracelet.

“Out!” the man shouted, gesturing furiously at his washtub. “Scram!”

Soos swallowed nervously and slipped through the tent flap. He laid the rat tail necklace under a sign for Sam’s Fix-a-ria (Fixin' and Fixings: Now Serving Up Affordable Repairs and Delicious Pizza). He could pick it up later, but he’d have to be careful. Abuela couldn’t see it. She wouldn’t want him talking to Old Man McGucket.

Sometimes honesty had to be sacrificed for the greater good, Soos decided. He had to get good at fixing things but he still knew so little. Soos had started writing in the dinosaur journal just two nights ago. First, he had ripped up bits of a hammer sticker he'd gotten in a large sheet at the hardware store, then he'd smoothed them out and placed them so that it looked like the raptor was holding it in its tiny hands. 

The title page was emblazoned with the words "Soos' Guide to Fixin' Stuff" in a combination of colored pencil and velvety smooth sticker letters.

" _Fix-It Wizard Wisdom #1: A good fix-it guy can fix anything with how awesome his heart is, but first he's gotta have stuff in his brains_ " was the opening line of the official first page. Underneath this, stapled directly to the page, was a dirty napkin covered in scribbled notes from his talk with Old Man McGucket.

Old Man McGucket's advice was cryptic and often in rhyme, and Soos didn't think he was going to be able to remember any of it. All he knew for sure was the town needed a fix-it guy and he was gonna be that guy.

* * *

Stan dragged his coffee into the gift shop with him, praying the light rain would fend off the Saturday morning tourists. Sleeping was an absolute nightmare with those wax hellspawn in the house. He faked restful sleep and listened to them argue into the night.

Stan was grateful that he didn’t have to watch the door to make sure the new kid came on time. Well, he’d been around for what, at least a month by now. Maybe two. It was definitely two, now that he thought about it.

Sure, the kid had tried to fix a hole in the screen door with duct tape and had left multiple entry holes in the wall when Stan had asked him to put up a sign, but he was a kid. He’d get better. And if he didn’t, he worked cheap and he bought his own supplies.

“Hey, hey Snake Guy!” he called over his shoulder. “Where’s the new merch?”

Snake Tattoo Guy grumbled incoherently under his breath.

“Alright,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’m holding out my arms and somebody in here is gonna put the box in ‘em.”

The bell over the door jingled, heralding Soos’ arrival.

“Oh, good. Soos!” Stan waved his arms in place emphatically. “Don’t leave me hanging!”

Soos let out a gasp and ran at him at speeds Stan had not formally known him to be capable of.

“Uh, the box is over-” Stan stopped in his tracks. Small, pudgy arms were wrapped firmly around his midsection, a tiny head buried in his stomach. He waved one hand palm flat out to implicate the hugging. “What is this?”

“Good morning, Mr. Pines!” Soos smiled up at him, clinging to his chest. “What do you need me to do today?”

“I, uh, I wanted you to get the box. Uh, on the porch. You, um, you probably went by it already…” Stan watched as realization slapped the kid in the face. His wide eyes went wider and a frown snapped onto his face.

“Oh, okay!” Soos nodded, suddenly bright and eager once more. “I can fix that.”

“It doesn’t need fixing, it needs getting.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” Soos hopped out of the room, somewhat red in the face.

“Ugh, human contact.” Stan half-stumbled out of the gift shop. He dug his hands into the frame of his office door and sucked in a breath. A giggle exploded from across the room and Stan’s head snapped up. He shot his meanest glare at Snake Tattoo Guy, who was lounging behind the counter, peeking out from behind the monstrous cookbook he brought to work everyday.

“You gonna laugh at the troubles of a poor old man?” Stan huffed, folding his arms across his chest. “Don’t count on keepin’ a job with that attitude.”

He stalked into his office, head held high. He refused to acknowledged Snake Tattoo Guy’s continued snickering. He slammed his office door loudly, grumbling theatrically about “good-for-nothing temp labor.”

He began to lower himself next to the small bookcase by the door, but a sickening pop from his knee warned him against this action. He dragged his desk chair across the room, refusing to lift it as he went despite his annoyance with the awful scrape-squelching it produced.

He leaned down in the seat and ran a hand over his sparse book collection, pausing on a well-worn copy of Jessica Felix's _Hot Night in Crime City_. He pulled the book from the shelf, tugging off the dusty jacket to reveal _"Mr. Parent’s Guide to Rearing Your Progeny Right: How to Not Ruin Your Kid Like Your Parents Ruined You."_

He smiled wistfully at the dedication (which read as follows: “Mom if you think this is dedicated to you- you are absolutely right. But it's not for the reason you think. It's because you were a shitty parent. That's why.”) and the "Haha this guy GETS it" written in red ink underneath it.

Stan flipped through the book, determinedly ignoring the photograph he had thrown in as a makeshift bookmark. He blinked down at the young girl with frizzy brown hair and chocolate eyes, frowning. So much for Stan Pines of the Iron Will.

He plucked the picture from its resting place in “Chapter Ten: Separation Anxiety: What to Say When You're Going Away.” He ran a thumb along the worn surface of the polaroid, his sweaty fingers smudging the year _she_ had scribbled across the bottom.

For the umteenth time, he wondered about stowing the book in his private safe. He sighed and shoved the photo back in its rightful place. He turned to the index and read through the chapter titles, running a finger under the words to keep himself focused.

“Nothing in here about kids showin’ up on your doorstep and never leavin’,” Stan sighed, closing the book. “And all that hugging stuff- What’s up with that?”

One hand rubbed at his chin while the other tapped at the picture poking out from between the pages.

“I mean, I haven’t called in forever...” he mumbled. He struck out his feet, dragging his chair to the phone on his desk.

The dial tone chirped in his ear. He shifted so the phone rested between his shoulder and the side of his head.

“Hey, Uncle Stan, that you? This your number, right?” A whole other world of sound came into being. He could hear the television blaring a couple hundred miles away from him, the twins babbling somewhere nearby.

“A-are you too busy?” he scratched at the back of his neck.

“The kids and I are having lunch but don’t worry about it. They’re big strong toddlers and they can hold spoons now,” she soothed.

“Wonderful, sweetie. Send some new pictures soon,” Stan suggested with a nervous chuckle.

“They’re in the mail now, actually. But something’s up. Right, Unk?” she was always curious. She loved puzzles and games and had once spent hours trying to figure out one of his coin tricks.

“Uhhh, it’s just, it’s just- I’ve got this kid working the Shack with me and he’s so tiny and-”

“Come on, you’re great with kids! You practically raised me and I’m amazing.” In his mind’s eye, Stan could see her waving her hands in the air. He shook his head, smiling. That goofball-genius kid of his.

“Don’t you go trying to flatter your old Uncle Stan. He knows he’s no good looking after kids.”

“How old is he? No, no, Mabel. We don’t throw cheerios at Dipper. We eat them. I’m sorry, Unk, just filter out what I say to the twins.”

“Twelve, I think?”

“Then he’ll be fine on his own. Give him work to do and tell him he did great when he does it.”

“What if he hugs me?”

“Hug him back, you old coot!” she giggled and he found himself joining in. “Oh no oh no, don’t do it, Dipper! Revenge is meaningless! Oh- oh. You did it.”

“Did what?”

“Flip his bowl. Milk and cereal. Everywhere.”

“You gonna head out then?”

“Yeah, sorry. I’d love to talk more but, y’know, kids.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Bye?”

“Bye.”

The phone let out a quiet blip and the other world was gone.

* * *

Soos was fixing the nervousness away. Mr. Pines couldn’t fire him for being weird if he was the best dang fixer in all of Gravity Falls.  

“‘Twisty turn the right way ‘till it ‘twon’t tighten no more,’” Soos recited to himself, tugging the wrench with both hands. He gave it one last push and it refused to yield. He sat back, laying the wrench on his lap.

“Hey, Soos! Are you done with the sink?” Stan shouted from the doorway. His footsteps were heavy as he walked across the room. Soos could hear the old man’s limbs popping as he crouched beside him. He swatted at the air beside Soos and grumbled “Move aside, will ya?”

“Alright, Mr. Pines,” Soos hummed, scooting over.

Stan knocked on the pipes a couple times, then ran his hands along the bolts. He nodded and stood up.

“Not half bad, kid,” he ruffled Soos’ hair.

“Really?” Soos’ head snapped up and he stared up at his boss with wide eyes. The kitchen was suddenly brighter, the half-rotted yellowing curtains over the sink letting in only the brightest rays of sunshine.

“Uh… yeah, you did great,” Stan gave him a nervous smile.

“Thanks, Mr. Pines,” Soos wrapped his arms around the man’s legs, forgetting his earlier embarrassment. The wrench in his lap fell to the floor with a clatter.

“Um,” Stan gave him a quick pat on the back before gently pushing him away. “Can- could you… uh, stop doing that?”

“Sorry, sir,” he pulled away immediately, hands twisting around the wrench in front of him. “And sorry about earlier too.”

Stan gave a curt nod and waltzed out of the room. Soos could hear him whistling his way down the hall. Suddenly, the whistling stopped.

“SOOS! DID YOU FIX THE GOLF CART?”

“Not yet, but I’ll get started right away, Mr. Pines!” Soos called back, one hand cupped around his mouth to amplify the sound. He could feel a smile spreading across his face.

All in all, this whole fixing thing was going pretty well.

* * *

“Psst, over here,” Snake Tattoo Guy hissed, gesturing for Soos to come closer.

“Hi! What’s up?”

“Take off yer cap- I’m a-gonna read yer fortune,” he said, lowering his cookbook.

“I got a fortune from that machine earlier,” Soos tilted his head towards the lumpy plaster monster nestled in glass on the other side of the room.

“Oh, him? He ain’ any good at fortunes. He tell you to buy a snowglobe?”

“Now that you mention it,” Soos whispered conspiratorially, gears shifting around in his head, “He told me that yesterday.”

“Take off yer cap and get ready for th’ truth.”

Soos dropped his hat on the counter and let Snake Tattoo Guy run his hands through his hair.

“This lump means you got good sense, good humor,” he said prodding at a spot on the side of Soos’ head. He jabbed at one on top and continued, “This one means you notice more’n folk’s think. And,” he paused a moment, “You got a spirit. Mmmm…”

“Whaddya mean, sir?” Soos narrowed his eyes, gears tumbling but not turning.

“There’s a spirit what likes you. Follows you around too. I think it’s good,” he took his hands off Soos’ head and rubbed his chin. “Pretty sure it’s good....”

“Oh.” Soos picked at his bracelet, rubbing at the frayed knot that held it together. “Do you know who it is?”

Snake Tattoos Guy spoke no more, returning to his cookbook with a slight frown tugging at his lips.

“I’m gonna make Apple Brown Betty tonight,” he whispered to himself, running his fingers down the page. “That’ll be lovely...”

* * *

In the evening, Soos waited for Abuela on the porch. The warm yellow light from the gift shop spread out over him, cut into bitty pieces by the criss-crossing pattern of the screen door. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and closed his eyes, appreciating the cool evening wind that ghosted along his cheeks. He shifted on the step, wincing as the splintering wood pricked at his hands.

A beam of light broke into the clearing, a steely gray truck promptly following it. Soos turned his face to the sky. The emerging stars blinked down at him and he blinked back. He heaved himself up as Abuela drove up slowly, gravel crunching under the truck’s massive wheels.

“Reveal your secrets,” he said to the stars, squint-glaring up at the sky before turning away. He hopped on the car, ripping open the door and letting gravity dump him on his seat.

“How was work?” Abuela asked, checking the rearview mirror and reaching out a hand to untangle the rosary hanging from it.

“Kinda weird,” he replied, leaning over to help her pull the various stringy religious artifacts apart.

“I’m sure.” Abuela snorted.

* * *

The moon was drifted up above, a sliver of white china climbing the sky. A rustling sound came from the now deserted museum. Stan rubbed at his face and groaned. As he removed his hand, his meanest expression clicked into place.

“Alright,” he drawled as he entered the wax museum, “What is it gonna take to get you yahoos to stay quiet.”

“Freedom.” Wax Sherlock Holmes stepped to the front of the crowd.

“Look, I’m gonna cut to the chase: all you do is annoy me. And you ain’t making me a cent richer,” Stan’s arms worked furiously as he spoke. What could he say, he was a man who spoke with his hands. “I’ve let this funny business go on long enough.”

“What are you proposing?” Wax Holmes inquired, eyebrow quirked.

“I’m putting you all away. The wax museum is officially closed.” He stood stock-still, hands spread out, palms turned upward.

“We have followed each and every one of your, I must say, unreasonable demands. We have caused no trouble.”

“Really?” Stan snorted, jabbing a finger at the bags under his eyes. “Because I think you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Well, I never!” Wax Sherlock Holmes ejaculated, left hand pressed to his breast.

“Yeah, you did.”

“Crim-criminy crumpets, it’s an expression, you dolt,” Wax Holmes sniffed.

“That’s enough. To the storeroom. Now!” Stan waved them away furiously.

“We like living like this; it’s cool. Putting us away is, like, whack,” Wax Coolio whined.

“Perhaps we should do as we have been told,” Wax Shakespeare argued, “It may be for the best.”

“Oh, shut up, all of you!” Wax Lizzie Borden snapped, silencing the madding crowd.

“What do you propose, missy?” Wax Sherlock Holmes asked.

“God, Lizzie Borden died in her late sixties, and you call me missy? You’re kidding,” she hit the handle of her hatchet against her palm, again and again, creating a tense rhythm. “I say we fight.”

“Excellent. I was about to suggest as much,” Wax Holmes soothed, reaching for a sword mounted on the wall.

“Son of a bitch,” Stan grumbled, snatching a splintering spear off of the wall, “I’m getting too old for this.”

* * *

“I guess I have a ghost buddy,” Soos whispered to his Mr. Mystery bobblehead, flicking it. Mr. Pines nodded in sympathy. “I mean this is, like, cool, dude. Really cool.”

Soos reached his hand up to fiddle with the bill of his hat, meeting air. He raised one finger, looking into an imaginary camera just above his television set.

“It seems I have left my hat at the Mystery Shack,” he deduced. There was only one thing to do. He toddled down the hall to the living room. Abuela reclined comfortably in her rocking-armchair, feet resting on a ratty ottoman.

“What is it, Soos?” she said, turning to him.

“I forgot my hat at the Shack! Can we go get it?”

“Oh, Soos. You are so forgetful,” Abuela sighed. She shifted in her seat, picking up the remote control. “After Cash Wheel, please.”

“Thanks, Abuela!”

“No trouble, _mijo_.”

* * *

“Take that! Ha ha! I, uh, I feel like there’s a pun here but I don’t got it,” Stan drove his spear into Wax Abraham Lincoln. The spear snapped in two as he ripped it out. “Time for fists!”

He punched Wax Larry King and followed the crowd into the gift shop.

“Oh no you don’t!” Stan rammed his shoulder into Wax Sherlock Holmes who was approaching the cash register. The man and the wax figure collapsed in a heap on the floor. Wax Holmes pounded futilely at Stan’s side with his sword. The look on his face when he’d realized the thing was made of tin foil had been priceless.

A snow globe rolled across the floor and Wax Holmes grabbed it, smashing it on Stan’s arm.

“Ugh!” Stan held his arm to his chest as Wax Sherlock Holmes ran away. “Get back here, you wax gremlin!”

He stood up, bones creaking.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Stan groused as a loud knock sounded from the front door. He took two long strides towards the living room and shouted, “Whaddya want; I’m busy!”

“Oh, sorry Mr. Pines. I left my hat on the counter and…” It was Soos. Great.

“No, no- I’ll get it,” he grunted, kicking his way through the wax figures. He snatched the hat up and made his way through the shop and living room.

Wax Sherlock Holmes stood in front of the door, glaring down at him. He rolled his eyes back and made a wet gurgling sound, running a finger across his throat.

“Just lemme give ‘im the hat,” he whispered urgently. “You wouldn’t hurt a kid, right?”

Wax Holmes smiled and reached for the doorknob. Stan punched him square in the face, bowling him over. He delivered two swift kicks to his side and ground his foot into the wax figure’s back.

Stan straightened his tie and grinned, opening the door a crack.

“Here ya go, champ!” Stan gave the boy a smile and shoved the hat through the small space.

Soos looked confused but nodded and began to turn away. He spun back around. Stan groaned.

“Mr. Pines, are ghosts real?” Soos stared into his hands.

“No.”

“Oh, but Snake Tattoos Guy said-”

“Don’t listen to him,” Stan said gruffly, about to slam the door. “Now scram!”

Soos waddled down the steps dejectedly.

“Oh, and come bright an’ early tomorrow,” he hollered after the boy. He kicked at Wax Sherlock Holmes again and continued with a smirk, “I think the floor could use a good waxing.”

He watched until Soos’ grandmother’s truck disappeared into the trees before turning back to the figures. They had congregated behind him. He let out a hearty laugh, raising his fists.

“This is gonna be fun!”

* * *

Soos clutched his hat in his hands. Light from the streetlamps puddled in the car, gathering up and then disappearing all at once.

He leaned against the door. He pressed his cheek to the window, the fat on his face squishing and rolling a little as the truck rumbled along. Hesitantly, he glanced at the telephone wires. The thick, black lines hung in space, blending in with the darkness of the forest here and standing stark against the deep blue sky there. A white mist surrounded Mr. Pines as he walked the wire.

“Do you want to watch some tv before bed?” Abuela asked, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

“Sure,” Soos sighed. Mr. Pines wobbled on the wire and Soos closed his eyes. Another rule for his guidebook drifted into his head.

_Fix-It Wizard Wisdom #2: A good fix-it guy knows what he's gotta fix._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer's Woes: This chapter is long as heck (for me, at least). I'm really starting to get into threading the plot so I'm excited. I'm trying to figure out ways to make each chapter into a small arc of it's own that builds up little things for the bigger plot ideas as it goes. I haven't touched this fic in ages so I tried to look back to make sure it's consistent. Tell me if I flubbed anywhere. Anyway I'm looking forward to doing more of this. Tell me if you feel like the chapters should be shorter or if you liked something or if you want me to stop making up bad fake book titles.


	6. Electronic Voice Phenomenon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soos enters a radio contest for a chance to speak with his ghost and Stanley Pines' "death" has an anniversary. 
> 
> Also Raoul and Amira join the get-along gang.

For two glorious weeks before the start of the school year, Raoul was off from summer camp. Soos filled this time with swimming pools and sparklers, work at the Shack all day and video game marathons with his best friend all night.

Then August stopped being August or at least Soos felt like it did. Summer should have been marked on calendars as one long, golden month packed with a hundred days that stopped the moment school started. In this new "Soos world order," which sounded funny to him so he called it that, September became Schooltember, October turned into Halloween!, and then the year would stop right there and start over again with the winter cold.

Soos spent his labor day sweeping up the Shack, much to Raoul's chagrin.

As Soos finagled a rug cleaner from three sponges duct taped to each other and the broken-off handle of an old broom, he stared into but mostly past the all-seeing carpet eye, ghosts swirling in front of his mind's eye like floaters.

There were lumps on his head that told, not the world, but Snake Tattoos Guy and guys who were like the wizards in _Mystic Fantasy_. Soos wondered if this was the sort of thing only bikers, with their big hands and mysterious tattoos, could know. Were bikers wizards? Some investigation was in order before it was too late to quit being a handyman. There had to be shelves upon shelves of biker guides while he hadn't found a single book that could make him a better fix-it guy.

"You doing okay, Mayonnaise Boy?" Snake Tattoos Guy called from the counter, leaning toward him across a display of lollipops with crickets frozen in their centers and turning up the radio.

He was the only guy who knew about Soos' ghost. Raoul and Mr. Pines wouldn't believe him, so he wasn't sure who else to go to.

"This is my song! But, how did you know?" Soos gasped as "Baby, I'll Ride 10,000 Kilometers on My Piano to You" by Don't Forget Vanessa burst from the crackling boom-box speakers. "Was it on my head?"

"Nah, just see ya dancin' something fierce when it's on," Snake Tattoos Guy answered, chuckling at the way Soos' eyes popped.

"Oh!" Soos blushed and tried not to groove too hard as he scrubbed at the rug.

"You're listening to Freddy and the Weasel in the Morning on KWZL. I'm your host Freddy and we're here to tell you- that's right, you!- can connect with the spirit realm from the comfort of your very own home."

Soos yelped, spinning around and narrowing his eyes at the radio.

"Talk to ghosts? Is this for real, Freddy?" A high-pitched voice asked, followed by a series of goofy sound effects.

"Absolutely, Weasel, old pal! YOU can get your very own EVP– that's Electric Voice Phenomenon– reader. Just press the red button to record, ask any old ghost what he used to have for dinner, play it back and BAM! Handy Hamburger!"

"Looks like me and ghosts have one thing in common. I love the delicious taste of microwave-ready Handy Hamburger! But, Freddy, how will our listeners get their hands on one of these… EVP readers? I hear they're mighty expensive?"

"Well, Weasel, it's simple: we've got one too many! Call in from 6 to 10 a.m. this Tuesday, that's tomorrow, and be our lucky thirteenth caller and you could win your very own portal to the realm of the supernatural! Remember to tune into our You Can Only Wear White After Labor Day If You're a Ghost special broadcast where we'll be testing a brand new EVP reader. That's tomorrow between 6 and 9 a.m. Don't be afraid to call in. Be keen, be number thirteen!"

"But that's when school is, Freddy and the Weasel dudes," Soos mumbled to himself. "Hmmmmmm."

* * *

"Don't do this to me, Soos," Raoul lamented as the bus screeched to a halt in front the patch of dirt where Soos could almost always be found every weekday from late August to early May at exactly 6:15.

But Soos wasn't there. The bus creaked on past the spot as Raoul gave the window a half-hearted punch.

"Is anyone sitting here?" Amira, summoned by his empty seat and the misery it would cause him for her to take it, asked as she plopped herself down. She stretched and pulled out a small reporter's notebook and started writing furiously in it with a pen covered in pink penguins.

"Don't. Do. This. To. Me," Raoul grit out, imagining himself punching through the window. His knuckles made thin scuff marks in the cold layer of morning window sweat. "Don't."

* * *

"'Never storm off after a fight. If you are ever separated by death or circumstances and your last interaction with your child was negative, it will haunt them forever,'" Stan Pines read aloud to himself. He snorted and snapped the book shut. He pushed himself up, dragging his feet off the desk top and tucking them underneath his seat.

"'Haunt them forever,' eh?" Stan repeated absentmindedly, staring through the viewing glass, "Guess you know what you're talkin' about after all, Mr. Parenting."

He traded one useless book for another and picked at the switchboard for a bit. Stan hummed to himself as he tried out different patterns. Green on, yellow off. Red on, yellow on. Red off, orange on.

"'S like Ham radio. Ain't that right, you dumb diary?" Stan huffed, thumbing through page after page of stupid dumb curlycue handwriting.

A pile of spiderweb-thin letters in the corner of one page caught his eye.

_3 pm: called Ma. She confused me for Stanley. Said I could come back anytime. Did not correct. Tell Fiddleford his voice-changing serum could use some work._

* * *

 

Soos leaned back in his chair, kicking at the legs of his desk. He took a breath and watched the pink and red lights flicker over the dark wood. His shoes were all scuffed and muddy from running around in the woods behind the Shack.

He laid his head on the desk, into his folded arms. His walkie talkie slash AM FM radio vibrated, sounding more like Abuela getting ready to buzz his head for the summer than the soothingly smooth voices of Freddy and the Weazel.

Soos had surrounded himself with icons of good fortune. A string of Hoo-Ha's Fun Tickets(™) was clutched in his right hand, the walkie talkie was laid on top of a spelling test he'd aced without studying, and around his shoulders hung the rough, brown and white tiger blanket his Abuela had won for him at a church raffle.

He could still remember all the purple tickets she'd bought. She had stared down the numbers on the ticket until they knew she'd be disappointed in them forever if they weren't winners. Soos had toppled over trying to lift the winners basket, which was almost as big as he was. Once they were in the car, he'd ripped it from the plastic wrap and wore it like a superhero cape. He hadn't even taken it off when they'd gone to King's Cow Barn for victory ice cream.

Soos picked at the scratch-and-sniff strawberry sticker in the upper corner of his test. It had one graceful line for a mouth and smiling eyes. It no longer smelled like strawberries.

This was the longest he'd been unable to pay attention to Freddy and the Weazel.

"You feeling okay, Soos?" His Abuela called from the doorway. "I brought soup."

"'M okay." He said into his arms.

"It is very… sudden for you to be sick like this," she continued, the sound of her footsteps making it clear that she was headed towards him, "It is... alright if you are not sick."

"I-I don't feel good." Soos picked up his head as she laid down a bowl of tomato soup and a box of Takeuchi Fish Crackers. "'The fish that never fill your dish… because they're too good!' Gee, thanks, Abuelita."

"You're welcome, _mijo_ ," she sighed, ruffling his hair and shifting his blanket so it covered his shoulders better. "If there is anything you need to tell me…"

She left the room after a moment or so of silence. Soos cranked up the volume on his walkie talkie and pulled the kitchen phone out from under his blanket.

"This is Freddy and you're listening to KWZL. Stay tuned and you could be our lucky thirteenth caller!"

"I'm trying, Freddy."

* * *

"Sooo, what's up with Soos?" Amira asked, plopping her lunch tray down in front of Raoul. The plastic hitting the faux-wood table made a soft _thwack_ -ing sound.

Raoul groaned, pouring his soured chocolate milk over his too-chunky mashed potatoes.

"He's just out sick," he grit, stirring the two unsuited ingredients together with his spork. "You don't need to make stuff up about it, Amira."

"Okay, look. I get that you don't like me or whatever." Raoul did not look up, missing Amira's rolled eyes and spinning hands. Soos was not there but if he had been, he would have been reminded of Mr. Pines. "But Soos has been... I don't know... _mopey_. Yeah, mopey this week."

He continued on, pretending to eat and pretending that Amira wasn't there.

"I think Soos might- Actually, I don't know what's going on but open your eyes, dude!"

"And see what, Amira?" Raoul tried his best to sound like a world-weary action movie star as he spoke, taking an awkward bite out of his lunch roll in what was presumably a jaded fashion. "Something you made up?"

"Uhhh, no. He's really not doing good. Other kids have noticed," she replied, pushing her notebook and pink penguin pen past his celery stick sentry, "Here's a survey I did."

"You ever talk to people or do you just hand out dumb surveys?" Raoul glanced at the page.

"Soos?" read the header. There were three options with a handful of tallies beside each. Four tallies for "Is he okay, man?" One for "Okay, I guess?" Two for "Who is that guy?"

"Are you going to answer?"

"You're kidding me," Raoul sighed, pulled out his pencil, and wrote "HE'S FINE," all in capital letters.

* * *

Soos was moping. Alba saw it in the defeated way he toddled past her to dump the kitchen phone in its cradle. He was uncharacteristically silent.

"Hey, Soos, why don't you rent something on the tv?" Alba prodded, laying down the knife she'd been dicing tomatoes for her fresh pasta sauce with. "It can be anything you like."

As she expected, he perked up a bit, spinning to face her.

"Even _Space Rockers From Mars_?" Soos asked, eyes widening and hands clasping together in front of him.

"Even if it is _Space Rockers From Mars_." She shook her head in mock-exasperation, but still smiled at him.

"Can I start now?"

"I don't see why not. You already know the password," she lifted her arms in a way she felt said "you should not know, but there isn't anything I can do about it."

Soos mostly missed this as his tiger blanket flared behind his speeding feet.

"No shoes in the house!" Alba called after his blinking sneakers.

Making sure he was ensconced in the sofa, cheering for uncouth neon-clad teens who were supposedly better than all the other uncouth neon-clad teens, she dropped her knife and made a beeline for his bedroom.

"Here we are," she hummed to herself as she plucked the journal off his desk. It was perhaps wrong of her to read her grandson's diaries but it was the best way to keep up with him. Also, if she was being honest, they were rather entertaining.

The torn hammer sticker in the dinosaur's hand made her smile. However, the smile folded into a firm frown as she opened up to a dirty napkin stapled to one page.

_Old Man McGucket is my cool mentor dude now. He tells me the epic secrets of handymanry and sometimes we eat weird stuff together at the dump. He taught me cool stuff today. I wish I could fix the way everybody thinks about him. I want to fix a lot of things._

"Oh, I too will be fixing, Soos."

* * *

 

Stan tossed a throw pillow on the stool by the counter, preparing to settle n the upstairs world for the morning. Nobody ever came early on a weekday, but he felt the odd dollar was worth the trouble.

Normally he would be running numbers or openly scratching himself, fully enjoying his alone time. Today, he found himself flipping through that blasted journal instead of his morning newspaper, running numbers that had more to do with theoretical physics than cold, hard cash.

He was half-listening to that radio show Soos always had on, registering it only enough to groan loudly when Toby Determined was patched in as the "lucky" thirteenth caller. He snapped the boombox off just in time to catch the sound of his office phone beeping its little heart out.

"Stan Pines here," he grumbled into the receiver.

"This is still your number, I see," his niece said, in that weird joke-knowing voice of hers.

"Not sure how, but the feds haven't caught on to my… you-know-what," Stan laughed, furrowing his brows in a way that would have made her giggle if she had been more than a voice miles and miles away. "Take that, NSA! Thought I gonna give you the real dirt, eh? Ha!"

"Well, you won't get it from me either!" His niece chimed in, her words coming out between laughs. "I'll never help you catch my Uncle Stan!"

"That's- that's real sweet a' you, sweetie… Seriously," Stan said, knowing that she was not and never would be aware anything that could put him in prison for more than a few years. "Keepin' your ole uncle outta the hoosegow."

"You know me, one of the world's greatest helpers."

"Alright, spill it. What's all this calling business about? You gonna send me one of your, uh, what're they again? Comic stips."

"They're books, Uncle Stan, comic _books_. I'm a real-life author."

"Alright, alright, Authorpants. Don't get your nerd pants all… nerdy." Stan knew that he had no punchline and prepared to take the inevitable mockery in his stride.

But the mockery didn't come.

"So… about that. I- well, the book's about to be edited and I want you to get an advanced copy so you can tell me what you think."

"I finally get to read your nerd book, huh?"

"Comic, you get to read my nerd comic."

"A-ha! It's not a book then!"

"No, no! It's a book that looks like a comic! A comic that's as big as a book!" There was a scuffling noise as she switched the phone from one shoulder to the other.

"Heh… kinda gives me an idea there…" Stan mused, jotting "thing that looks like another thing but isn't" on his desk calendar. He waved his free hand as if to urge her to continue. "Oh, uh, you can't see that. So, go on… uh, er… what's this comic book about?"

"Well… I don't want you to be mad at me but… it's about… you. Sorta. A character I based on you."

"And ya've been hiding him from me all this time! I'm- of course I'm mad! I'm furious." He stroked his chin, "You can make it up to me by telling me about my favorite thing: me!"

"Well, he- he's like a… a bear guy."

"Me, a bear?! Sweet Moses, you'll make millions."

"Well, it's not entirely about you. You're one of the beloved secondary cast members- according to my agent, who doesn't believe you're real, by the way. I told her that the character is based on you but she doubts your greatness."

"Her first and, let's be completely honest here, probably not her last mistake. Dump her while you can, sweetheart. I bet she wears way too much makeup and doesn't-"

"Hey, Unk, her makeup is great. Anyway, I think she'll get it someday."

"So, if I'm part of this 'lovable secondary cast,' then who's the real hero guy?"

"Well," she sighed, "This is the part that I wanted to ask about… I'm worried it'll bother you."

"Fire away, princess. Nothin' much can pierce this cold, leathery thing in my chest. What's it called, again? An ulcer or somethin'?"

"It's… and I guess this is a really bad day to tell you this. It's about your brother Stanley."

"Oh, uh… oh," Stan mumbled into the receiver articulately, rubbing his chest in a way that would have been more theatrical and probably hilarious if she had actually been there.

"It's okay if you want me to scrap this project. I should have asked you before I started and I- I never knew Stanley and you'll know it's all wrong the second you see it an-"

"Six-one-eight," Stan interrupted, "That's six-one-eight Gopher Road, Gravity Falls, Oregon. That's my address. Don't be a stranger; ship something out."

"I already know your address, Uncle Stan."

"Thought ya could use a reminder, seeing as I never got any pictures of the kids..."

"I forgot! I'm so sorry- I-"

"It's fine. Now you can send one big box."

"I'm sorry about… everything. And I hope you're okay today. If… if you don't think he's right, you can just tell me and I'll-"

"I-I don't expect ya to... I- it's… like you said, you never knew Stanley."

"I hope you're okay tod-"

"Look, sweetie. You… you mean well, but it's been decades and 'm... fine."

There was silence and then "You want me to go?"

"How come the rugrats aren't botherin' ya this time?"

"Daycare."

"Oh. That explains it. How are those rapscallions?"

"Well…" she started out, unsure, "Mabel's always frowning. So serious. I think she's going to be a novelist. But little Dipper is the life of the party. Real comedian material."

"Uh… uh-oh. Gotta 'nother call. If it's the NSA coming for me, I warn ya, I may never come back. Look for me in the AM airwaves. Remember, Mr. DJ Mystery. That's D-J Mr. Mystery."

Then he hung up.

"Uh, hello? Stan Pines," he grumbled.

"Yes, hello, Mr. Pines. I have a problem," Alba Ramirez answered. "As usual, I believe it to be with you."

"Okay? Look, we already talked about this. I'm not 'poisoning' your kid's brain or whatever; I'm practically helping him out! Look at him, already… building a, uh… what's it called? Resump- resillian- reptil- resume! Anyway, he's doing that at his age!" Stan's hands tumbled one over the other for the benefit of no one. "If ya don't wanna deal with-"

"No, no. Stop talking. You are… mostly not the problem," she paused a moment, her silence cutting in a calculated way. "It is… Mr. McGucket, who I believe is… trying to teach Soos about fixing things."

"... And why's this any a my business?" Stan crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

"You tell him not to do this, Mr. Pines, and he will not. Try being a good influence, mmm?"

"Look, Mrs… is it Mrs or… you know what, it doesn't matter. I don't have the kinda, uh, reach you might think I do. Kids are gonna do what they want- it's what kids do, and anyway, you're not gonna-"

"Excuse me." Stan rolled his eyes at her tone, but remembered when she'd come to his porch and held his tongue, allowing her to continue. "You, a conman, are trying to tell me that you cannot make a twelve year old believe something. Is this right, Mr. Pines?"

Snake Tattoos Guy miraculously appeared in the gift shop and Stan hung up with a curt "My cashier just arrived. The Mystery Shack phone line is for business purposes only from 11 a.m. to 7:30 p.m., Monday through Saturday. Good day."

* * *

"You skip school today, Soos?" Raoul asked into his walkie talkie. He was in the furthest corner of his lawn so that his walkie talkie could catch Soos' walkie talkies signal. He sat cross-legged in the dirt and dying grass, running a hand over the splintering gash in the fence.

"Oh, I, uh… kinda. Over." Soos' voice crackled from a hundred and three yards away.

"You kinda what?" His dad had tried to paint their fence white two years ago. The paint was peeling like the sunburn he'd gotten last month after his camp's field trip to West Coast Waterworld. He wished that Soos had gone and gotten sunburned with him.

"I kinda skipped school, dude. Over."

"Did your grandma make you?" She did that sometimes. Raoul wondered why she let him take those random days off, but didn't want to ask. He scraped at a chip of paint with his thumb.

"No… Over." Soos was quiet and Raoul pulled away another strip of paint. "I wanted- I needed to do something, but it doesn't matter now. It's over. Over."

"You don't have to say 'over' all the time…" he sighed and remembered Amira's list, "Anything bothering you?"

"Yeah… but you won't believe me," Soos sounded like an immortal action hero burdened with centuries of guilt and, for a moment, Raoul kind of expected him to say he'd killed a man. He didn't end with 'over' this time, and it made Raoul feel like he was at the top of a log flume ride in a bad way.

"Hit me with it," he replied, sitting up straighter. "I can take anything."

"Okay, so Snake Tattoos Guy, you know the one with the cool drums? He, like… touched my head and said I, like, had a ghost or something and it followed me around and… I think I should, like, do something about it. Like, fix it or something."

"Some guy touched your head and you're haunted now? Soos…"

"I- I've been thinkin' about it and… it's okay if you don't believe me."

Raoul frowned. Bad friends didn't believe their friends and he didn't want to be a bad friend, but ghosts?

"Should- should I go?"

"Nah, dude," Raoul feigned ease and levered himself up on the fence to look over at Soos' place. "Hey, what's up with the weird lights in back?"

"...Dude, I don't know."

Raoul was back at the top of the log flume.

"It's blue… no, purple? Blue again… Your grandma got some secret disco room?"

"No, man. I have no clue what's up."

"Must be some neighbor's tv," Raoul said, furrowing his brow, "Really fills up that window, though."

"Okay, dude. I'm in the weird room right now. But, there's, like, the opposite of creepy flashing lights. Which is, like, no lights at all."

"Dude, dude, dude! You at the window?"

"No, but I'm almost there."

 _No, duh_ , Raoul didn't say. The person in the window looked less like Soos and more like a fat lady with long hair in a… sweatshirt?

"Check me out, Raoul!" And there he was, not some weirdo he didn't know, but Soos jumping and waving his hands. Raoul was at the bottom of the slope and the spray was hitting his face. He pushed the talk button on the walkie talkie.

"I hear mom. Gotta go now. Over."

* * *

Amira sat in the back during silent reading. The brave hero, Em'ni'ka, was about to stand up to the tyrannical Queen Gwendolyn and-

Raoul stopped in front of her seat, picked up her penguin pen out from where it was laid in the little groove at the top of her desk, and held his hand out, palm up.

She looked over to the teacher, who, to her great relief, had her head blocked out by her gigantic special edition copy of _Wolfman Barechest_ (now with illustrations by renown artist Helena Grey!).

Amira reached into her desk to grab her special survey notebook.

He clicked the pink penguin pen, casting nervous glances back and forth between the notebook and the teacher as he leaned forward to write. She stared at her book and listened to three long scratches followed by a series of staccato scribbling sounds.

Raoul shuffled away, moving toward the teacher with a pre-filled out bathroom pass in hand.

Amira picked up her notebook as the door slammed shut behind him. It was open to her Soos survey. Raoul's previous answer had lines through it and there was new text below.

_Don't know? He said something about a ghost. Saw a lady in the window. Wasn't his grandma._

"Looks like I've got a real mystery on my hands," she said to herself, grinning and possibly rubbing her hands together a little.

"No talking during silent reading, Amira," the teacher called.

"Sorry."

* * *

That day, Stanley Pines might have thought about car crashes and potions, about how fingers and voices and cleft-chins no longer stood out when people stopped looking for them. He might have, but mostly, he didn't. He was focused on the materials mentioned on the page he was reading in that dumb journal and where he would find all of them.

He frowned at the portal, which, after years of decoding, he'd learned was made up of scraps of UFOs and run on toxic waste.

"This is fake," he said aloud, mostly directed at the cat on his coffee mug. He rubbed at the blotches of paint sealed to its surface. "Doesn't even makes sense."

It was clear that the plans were incomplete, which was a real pain in the ass. Everything cut off in weird places. Ford used to have a map on his wall, when he was fifteen then sixteen then onward. One big map of the country made out of highway maps that people were stupid enough to bring to a pawn shop. He'd circled areas in different colors.

The map hadn't been to scale at all. Stan recalled the maps pasted and layered haphazardly over one another, Texas tiny and New Jersey taking up a full square foot.

Stan dragged his notebook and pen toward him, working out the math slowly but surely. If he knew the half-life of such and such a material, then added this variable and multiplied by something, then that was how long this amount of goop would power the machine.

"Half-life… more like half _my_ life. Ha!" Stan's audience of a poorly painted cat with no pupils and two glorified diaries didn't laugh. He raked his hand across his face. "You're right… not very funny."

* * *

Soos wasn't sure how, but Abuela had received two phone calls around forty-five minutes apart, from Raoul and Amira's parents. This was enough time for the first part of a two part _Star Rockers From Mars_ special and half of the second to air. A little bit after the two parter had ended fifteen minutes later, he found himself in the backseat of Raoul's dad's car, sandwiched between the two of them.

He kicked at the ashtray built into the seat in front of him. Soos was mostly thinking about how Steven's dad, who was named Evan, had a sister, Eva. She had just crash-landed from Mars and Steven found out that they were both aliens and that he was part alien like them. Soos already loved Aunt Eva. She had a mega-awesome laser-shooting keytar and oh boy, was she going to change everything.

"We're here!" Amira shouted, clicking her seat belt off before the car came to a standstill.

They passed under the large Dids-4-Kids sign, quickly separating from Raoul's dad.

"We're going to the board game aisle, okay?" Amira took charge.

"Sure, whatever," Raoul replied, following her. Soos waddled behind them.

They walked at a brisk pace and Soos wondered how Steven felt when he'd realized everything would be different.

Amira ran ahead as they approached the aisle and dipped in. Soos and Raoul burst ahead in time to catch her knock over several copies of Candy Universe while reaching for… whatever it was she was looking for.

"Tada!" Amira spun around, holding the box in both hands and pushing it in their faces. "The answer!"

"A Ouija board!? Are you serious?" Raoul snorted and crossed his arm.

"Because I was right, I get to choose what we do first."

"Soos should get to pick first."

"Soooooooos!" Amira shouted.

"Oh, uh, what?" Soos tried not to be thinking about how cool it would be to have Eva's

keytar and big purple boots.

"What do you think we should do? I think we should get this Ouija board."

"I'm pretty sure this is, like, against my religion or something," Raoul interjected.

"Yeah, mine too probably," she replied, shrugging, "Buuuut, we have to help Soos!"

"You just want to do weird stuff!"

"Dudes, dudes, fret not. Raoul buddy," Soos dropped a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder and continued, "I think we should try it or something."

Only a couple of days ago, Soos had lost that contest. When he heard Toby's voice cracking on the radio, he'd felt like he would never find out the truth.

Soos wandered over to the shelves to pick up another box for inspection and his eye caught the price. "Uh, guys? This is mega expensive."

"Never fear!" Raoul pulled a calculator from his pocket. "I always come prepared."

"Wait, why do you have-?" Amira started but was quickly cut off.

"What's your guys' allowances?"

The two then told him, Soos feeling a little awkward that his was much smaller.

Raoul tapped away on his calculator.

"If we each give half of ours every week it'll be done by…" Raoul counted off the days on his hands, then groaned. "...Halloween."

"Halloween seance, Soos, Halloween seance!"

"I don't see why I thought having you here would be a good idea…"

* * *

_Fix-It Wizard Wisdom #3: A good fix-it guy gets help sometimes._

Soos nodded approvingly at this new entry and after a moment of thought, added a doodle of Raoul and Amira clacking oversized wrenches together with a big spiked sound effect bubble that read "The Power of Friendship."

He laid down his guidebook and walked from his desk to the window. He'd left it open, appreciating the cool breeze that came through. Soos stared up at the moon, separated by distance, dust, and the screen window.

Soos thought about space, about Steven down on earth, and the fanfiction he was going to write soon. He thought of ghosts and answers and if Snake Tattoos Guy had made something good tonight. If he could do the drum bit from the _Space Rockers from Mars_ theme or not.

"What's Mars like now, Eva?" would be a good first line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a huge effort to get this chapter together since it is mostly about transitioning things so that I get to the Big Stuff. I hope you enjoy it and all the new fake radio and tv and junk I made up.


	7. Responsible Responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ouija Boards and Ramping up to that Sweet Sweet Finale. Eat my shorts, this fic is gonna get #Finished

Admittedly, the Central Oregon Toxic Waste and Radiation Museum had been too on the nose to pan out for Stan. His primitive sensor couldn't pick up anything more radioactive than the exhibit of 1960s cosmetics. Though he did enjoy the goop monster animatronic that popped up as he passed a hazard waste barrel. Well, if he was being honest, he'd laughed only after his heart rate had moved out of the Danger Zone.

He strode past the Radium Theatre and the Microwave Cafeteria, pausing a moment to admire the faintly glowing plastic chairs and tables, before picking up the pace and heading toward the visitor entrance.

The place was a dump. There was no security system at all, unless there were cameras installed in the hundreds of eyes from the Nuclear Testing Manikin Replica City. Stan had stood awkwardly in a model living room, blinking at the perfect 1950s family a moment before pantsing the father. He'd snagged the mustached manikin's pipe and passed it off to one of his sons. Finally, he'd tossed the mother's wig on the baby backwards, transforming it into an ugly furry beast and snapped one of the antenna on the television set, for good measure.

"Good work, Stan," he'd complimented himself, clapping his hands together.

Stan kicked at the message he'd sprayed across the black and white tiles in the lobby. The dot in an exclamation point blotted.

The Central Oregon Toxic Waste & Radiation Museum Sucks! BOO!

"Whatever!" his voice echoed up the salt and pepper flecked staircase and likely carried all the way to the unfeeling plastic parents and bounced inside the son's empty head.

He point-snapped at Marie Curie on the way out, mouthing "Call me" while walking backwards toward the door. A trail of electric green splotches followed his movements.

He tripped over the pamphlet kiosk, careening backwards and sending a wave of booklets crashing against the dirty red carpet.

"Warms my heart to see this, really," Stan laughed, picking up a Mystery Shack pamphlet that had fallen next to him and stuffing it in his breast pocket. "Ole Stan Pines making it in this ugly world."

Stan's back protested as he tried to get up. He laid his head on the pile of pamphlets and wiggled around, searching for purchase but finding none. If anyone had been there, they would have sworn he was making snow angels in the mountain of glossy print pages.

"Anybody wanna help an old man up? No? Could've guessed as much!"

* * *

"Creativity is not important to art," Mrs. Beleprise intoned, arching her arm dramatically as she laid a sheet of paper on each student's desk, "Inspiration comes and goes. Planning and work is important. Everything is in the planning, the effort, and the unplanned mistake. Look at the handouts, class. Each tiny thumbnail drawing is a plan. The free sketch, the design, the placement on canvas, the lineart, it all culminates in one beautiful painting that appears effortless to the world.

"With all this planning, you may think 'Where does The Mistake-' that's in capitals, class, as it is a living thing- a mistake breathes… wait, where did I go? You may think 'Where does The Mistake come in?'

"In your other classes, I'm sure you've learned of inventors and explorers have stumbled upon things without meaning to. Can any of you think of one? Yes, Amira."

"The Cheese Guy. He left milk out until it wasn't milk. And then ate it! Which is crazy, but it ended up being good so-"

"Great answer, I'll take it. Cheese was a mistake! Isn't that great?

"So, what is an art mistake? It's when maybe your hand slips and you make a line in a way you wouldn't've done on purpose. When you put a drawing in the copier and it distorts in an interesting way. When you put that sculpture in the kiln and it explodes, which forces you to work differently the next time.

"First attempts are beautiful and today, we are going to make them, class. We are going to make mistakes."

"Yes, Jesús?"

"It's Soos, Mrs. Beleprise. Uh, please."

"I'm sorry, Soos. Now, what did you want to ask?"

"So is planning or mistakes more important? I'm… kinda, like, confused."

"Both, Soos. I'm just emphasizing what we do wrong today because we often forget its part in creativity. That there is no need for constant perfection."

"Is this true for… non-art things? Too?"

"Yes, I would say so. Very important."

"Okay." He paused to absorb this, then remembered himself and added, "And we won't get a bad grade if it goes bad?"

"No, not today. Not in this class."

"Thank you, Mrs. Beleprise."

"You're welcome, Soos."

They had certainly planned, Soos thought to himself. Mistakes had seemed bad when they were talking about how Halloween night would work.

Well, Raoul and Amira had planned for him. Raoul had gone to the library and read, reread, and later hand-copied relevant passages from How to Scout for Boys: An Unnecessarily Gendered Guide to Taming the Untamable Forces of Nature and the Occult for each of them.

Soos thumbed through the pages in front of him, trying not to smudge Raoul's writing or hand drawn diagrams.

Scattered among the hand copied charts and figures, were print outs from Amira's conquest of the World Wide Web. The black text blended in with the haunted house wallpaper background in places. Soos imagined that if he had been on the Internet, the pair of aliens in the corner would be dancing and the eyeball in the center of the page would blink at him.

He spread the pages out around him, surprised to come across a handout from art class. He frowned a moment, mulling over Mrs. Beleprise's words. Raoul and Amira were better at planning, but he figured he should try harder to help them.

Soos reached for his journal and scrawled at the top of a fresh page:

> _Fix-It Wizard Wisdom #4: A good fix-it guy's gotta be creative and plan AND mess up a little (but in a cool way)._

* * *

"Huh," Snake Tattoo Guy grunted, squinting through the "STNLYMBL" window.

"Mmmm?" He cupped his hands around his eyes and pressed against the cool glass.

Green splotches peppered the gas petal and mat.

"Well, that's no surprise," he mumbled to himself, having noticed the immaculate break.

"Hmmm," he said, opening his cookbook and making a note in the margin of a recipe for apple cake with lemon and cardamom.

"Hey, you! Out there! I don't pay ya to sit around! Get in!" Stan shouted.

Snake Tattoo Guy took a deep breath. In nose, out mouth. He put his book away and fast walked towards the Shack, tote bag smacking his leg with each step.

"Ugh. What were you even doing?!" Stan grumbled, slamming the screen door behind him.

"Just thinkin', sir."

* * *

The golf cart was turned on its side, mechanical belly exposed to Soos. He reached out to give it a pat.

"Wait fer it," Old Man McGucket cautioned, slapping Soos' hand away.

"For what?"

"It." Old Man McGucket pressed an ear into the scrap metal and closed his eyes. "Righ' there."

Soos, swaying under the weight of his tool kit, waddled forward to get a closer look.

"Out, out, you vermin!" Mr. Pines bellowed, running with surprising speed down the slight incline, broom in hand.

"Wait, Mr. Pines, sir," Soos placated, dropping the tool kit mere centimeters from his toes, "he was only trying to-"

"I ain't hearin' it, kid," Stan huffed, shaking the broom in the direction of the cart. Huge spirals of dirt flew off the broom like spit, a tornado of dust bunny remains flying into Old Man McGucket's unblinking eyes.

After a moment's pause, Soos' only hope for Fix-It success scuttled away on all fours, yelping as he made a mad dash for the woods.

"Stay off my property. I'm telling you- I have ten guns!"

"But Mr. Pines-"

"I told you, I ain't hearing it. He's bad for business. We want folks to have fun here, loosen up, waste cash on the Mystery Wheel. When people see a crazy old guy, it's not fun anymore. They think, 'hey, I could end up like that guy.' And then all our spook'ems and jokes are lost because they can't stop thinking about the real monsters out there."

"Like the Trickster?" Soos risked, frowning at the now distant blur that had been about to explain the secrets of making screaming piles of metal purr.

"Nah, kiddo," Stan gave a short, barking laugh, "That stuff's fake. Y'know, the real scary stuff: death, old age, and… wait, am I supposed to be talkin' to a kid 'bout this stuff?"

"Probably not, Mr. Pines," Soos shrugged.

"Just… uh, try not to be emotionally scarred…" Mr. Pines walked backwards through the gift shop door, stumbling. He held the doorknob in a death grip in one hand as he point-snapped at his young employee with the other."Forgeeeet."

"Alright, Mr. Pines." He popped open his tool kit and lined up its content, one cold, weird thing at a time. He laid his walkie talkie slash AM FM radio, a screwdriver, and a roll of tiger striped duct tape on the leaf litter, turning narrowed eyes to each in turn. In the end, he reached for the tape, settling for the only thing he knew worked at this point.

"And don't hang around that old coot anymore." Mr. Pines shouted as he slammed the screen door.

"You're the only old coot for me," Soos said under his breath. He laughed at his own joke, wishing he had been brave enough to have shouted it back to Mr. Pines or have stood up for Old Man McGucket.

"Guess this is my big break to make mistakes," Soos sighed.

* * *

It wasn't like Soos didn't see Old Man McGucket anymore. He was still there. In fact, he was everywhere.

He stood behind them at the grocery store Monday morning. As he waited for Abuela to pack up their cart, Soos watched him fumble with his food stamps, pulling them from inside his hat like a magician.

"Cash don't mean much more 'an this slip of paper in my hands right here," he said, or rather shouted towards the cashier. "Invest in a lil gold, if'in you can. Now, Sally Sawscraps says you can just dig righ' in the ground anywhere in this ol' town. Highwaymen gold is all over the backroads here."

Soos was familiar with local chatterbox and gossip Sally Sawscraps the woodpecker but he didn't think the cashier was from the way her mouth crinkled.

"No staring," Abuela waved Soos away.

When she wasn't looking, he took one last look over his shoulder as Mcgucket grabbed his grocery bag.

There were only two items in it: an industrial sized bag of walnuts and a small tub of egg potato salad.

Soos hugged a plastic bag covered cereal box closer to him as Abuela hustled him out of the store.

* * *

Stan was trying to ignore the fact that Alba Ramirez was mooching off prime tourist space for approximately twenty-five minutes too long.

"You- over there, Snake Guy!" Stan barked out before looking back down at his copy of Mr. Parenting's Guide. "Tell her she can get the all-day parking pass or hit the road!"

He fumbled with a pack of gummy chairs a moment before dumping the whole thing in his mouth without taking his eyes off the page.

> **Chapter 3: Responsible Responsibility Or As An Adult Everything is Your Fault**
> 
> **YES, YOU READ THAT RIGHT. You are a grown up person desperate to blame your mistakes on dumb babies. But guess what: you're responsible for your own actions and for explaining them and basically the entire world to children.**
> 
> **Never leave a kid thinking an action unrelated to them is their fault. Remember being a kid and thinking that dead puppy/horrendous accident/divorce was your fault? It wasn't and you didn't deserve that burden.**
> 
> **So don't pass it on.**

"Hmmm." Stan pressed his palm into a spiky patch of stubble, drummed one set of fingers across the page. "Mmmm…"

The bell over the door tinkle-screamed as Alba Ramirez burst into the gift shop, Snake Tattoo Guy followed behind, his interlocked pleading hands useless.

"You did… that thing, right?" Alba asked when she reached the counter.

"What?" Stan grunted.

Alba pointed with her head out the side window where Soos was belly flopping into a pile of leaves (on the clock! He ought to get up and tell him to stop!).

"Oh, uh, yeah. That's… over with."

"Good." She paused a moment before continuing, "I like Jessica Felix, too."

"Er, wha-? Oh, oh yeah, gr-great writer," Stan babbled, clearing his throat and instinctively pulling the book to his chest. He ran a thumb along the dustjacket he'd used to disguise Mr. Parenting's Guide. "She really… captures crime… perfectly."

"Yes, I think so too."

"What are you… smiling at me or somethin'?" Stan laughed uneasily.

"I can do that," she replied with a mischievous eyebrow raise. "I hear you are doing a Halloween party. I used to do event planning; let me help."

"Uh, seriously?" Stan wasn't trying to cover his gaping mouth.

"I hate to disappoint Soos."

"Oh. Sure. Let's, uh, let's have a party."

* * *

"Happy Halloween!" Amira yelled, racing from the school's back door towards them at speeds Soos had only ever achieved in Loony Limo, swinging a plastic pumpkin in her hands. It jingled, it scraped, but it didn't candy-wrapper-crinkle.

"Dude, that's not candy," Soos quipped as he leaned over to see the quarters, dimes, and dollar bills shifting around the bottom.

"Definitely not," Raoul agreed with a laugh, removing an origami folded five dollar bill from his wallet, which was shaped like a roaring campfire.

"Is this a bird?" Amira giggled, snagging it from his hands and admiring it for a moment before dropping it in with the rest. "Did you do that?"

"Nah," Raoul sighed, "Soos did. I was born with no talents…"

"Whoa, Soos, that's seriously cool. And don't be a wet blanket, Raoul; you're pretty cool, I guess." She poked the contents of the pumpkin with one finger and began to count aloud.

"Hey! I'm allowed to say I stink, but YOU-"

"Five, six, seven… what was that?" Amira tilted her head to one side and looked profoundly confused.

"Wait, are you guys still mad at each other?" Soos asked his shoes. He kneaded the plastic bag in his hands and listened for an answer in the jingling of every type of coin the U.S. government had minted since 1982, according to his abuelita.

"It's kind of a joke now," Raoul replied, before turning to Amira with a weak "Right?"

"Yeah, it's funny hate now," Amira shifted the pumpkin into both hands. "Like on TV."

"Oh, good," Soos breathed and dropped his Zippo Bag into the pumpkin. Combined, they had a great bounty and Soos liked to imagine them as a big giant robot guy that ran on friendship and also fists.

They could probably do anything.

"And now a treat! No tricks, seriously!" Amira pulled three boxes from her backpack and shouted at the top of her lungs "LUNCH-A-MALS!"

"Duuuude!"

"My mom got the pizza kind for all of us, because it's the best." She passed out the boxes and plopped down on the grass. The two boys followed suit.

Soos scooted side to side as he settled down, the crunching leaves sounding like a pile of candy wrappers underneath him.

"You guys like this, right?" Amira asked, pausing to let them get out their tiny plastic trays and stab their Juicy Pouches.

"Sure do!" Soos exclaimed as Raoul nodded vigorously, his entire fun sized Crinkle bar already in his mouth.

"Well, then," Amira announced, tapping a spiked word bubble on her unopened package and trying not to laugh, "it really is '100% kid approved!'"

"You're the worst," Raoul groaned, gross chewed candy bits falling onto the leaves under him.

Soos laughed and started spreading sauce on his pizza cracker.

"They've got free masks!" Raoul exclaimed, trying to push his gross indignity out of their memories. He took his out and showed it off.

"A rat mask for Rat Tail Boy!" Amira grinned, pulling out her own mask.

"And a bat mask for a batty girl!" Raoul stuck out his tongue.

"I got a cat!" Soos smiled and slipped the cardboard over his head and snapped the elastic band over his ears.

"Nice!" A rat boy murmured approvingly and a bat girl reached out for a high five.

* * *

"Work with me here," Stan cajoled as he tugged a zipper up his back. It stuck and refused to budge a few inches from the back of his neck. "Well, it was cheap."

He snatched up his horned headband and turned to face the mirror. He placed it carefully on his head and grinned at his reflection.

"Stan Pines, you are devilishly handsome." He cackled madly at his own joke before composing himself then bursting into giggles again. "I kill me."

"Face paint or no?" he asked his reflection, turning his head from side to side.

He was interrupted by a series of furious knocks on the door.

"Whaddya want? I'm not giving any of you moochers candy!" Stan's eyes rolled back into his head as the knocking continued, for some reason. "Okay, okay, but you aren't getting any a' the good stuff."

He dashed down the hall, grabbing a bowl filled with chocolate eyeballs from a bureau by the door.

"Alright, alright!" he shouted tossing a handful out the door. "Is this what you wanted, you monsters?!"

"Good evening, Mr. Pines." Alba blinked sweetly at him. She flinched as the eyeballs hit her but recovered with surprising speed. She picked a few off the porch and put them in the pocket of her white dress, her glittery pipe cleaner halo and chicken feather wings bouncing as she moved.

"Wait, did we plan this?" Stan asked as she steadied herself, gesturing between their costumes. "I don't remember planning this.

"I don't… think so," she replied, drinking in his unflattering red bodysuit and horns.

"Sweet Moses," Stan breathed between fits of laughter. "What the hell?"

Alba joined him, using the doorframe to support herself.

"You've gotta be kidding me."

* * *

A figure in billowing robes paced the slab of concrete in front of the Dusk-2-Dawn. Occasionally, her stiff, awkward movements would cause the automatic door to drift open with its characteristic squeegee-scraping sounds.

Soos bolted from the truck and towards Amira, but not before lifting up the hood of his homemade dinosaur suit. Googly eyes the size of his fists rattled as he trotted up to the front door.

His abuela had only just finished piecing it together from an old fleece blanket they'd got at the thrift store. The fabric was rough around the elbows, but soft around his stomach and legs. She had explained that it would see a long life as both a costume and a pair of pajamas, and Soos knew that bed time would change forever following this fateful Halloween.

"Are you ready?" Amira stopped pacing when he approached. She shifted the large box in her arms and looked him over. "Can it fit in your bag?"

"I think so," Soos answered, holding up his dinosaur pillowcase/candy bag. It fit nicely and luckily, there would still be room for candy.

"Now, we wait. Again," Amira sighed, leaning back against the window, the "OPEN" sign lending her an eerie green aura.

"Cool costume." Soos noticed the shirt collar and red tie poking out of her robes.

"Thanks, you too."

"Here- I'm here!" Raoul called between breaths as he jogged up to the two of them. Soos was sure he'd run a marathon even though he knew it wasn't true. His hair was slicked back, his braided rat tail thrown over his shoulder. He was Super Hero Man, with a red-white-and-blue suit, a billowing cape on his back, a walkie talkie in his utility belt, and his polyester jacket tied around his waist.

"So, trick or treat first, right?" Amira asked.

"Sure thing, Citizen," Raoul puffed heroically.

"ROAAAAR!" agreed Soos.

They dashed from house to house, ringing doorbells, picking up two candies from bowls labelled "TAKE ONE PLEASE," and filling up, pumpkins, beach bags, pillow cases.

Soos would have forgotten the grim business they would be up to later if not for the pitter-patter of candy bouncing off the Ouiji board in his bag, sounding something like an oncoming storm the clear night sky had not predicted.

"We should start with the thing soon," Raoul pointed out as they'd reached the end of Nathaniel Ave, the Halloween capital of Gravity Falls. After those houses, with their huge, humming inflatable decorations and full-size candy bars, there was no better you could do. Well, Hoo-Ha's Family Haunt-a-palooza, but that was always packed and you had to pay to get it in. Trick or Treating was as free as it had always been.

"We could go to the dump," Amira suggested. "It's just up ahead!"

"But…" Soos piped up from behind them, "Mr. McGucket lives there and Mr. Pines says I can't-"

"What is he, your dad?" Amira chided, reaching into the dinosaur pillowcase.

"Don't be like that," Raoul started, swatting her hand away.

"Look," she sighed, "I know you really like Mr. Pines, Soos, but he's your boss not the boss of you."

"You've actually got a point there," Raoul conceded, saving the swift shin kick he had considered for another time.

Soos looked at his friends, then up above them. There were no telephone wires blocking the view and in the distance, trees went on forever.

The sky was empty.

"Yeah, you're right. Let's go."

* * *

"There," Alba announced, pride clear in her voice, as she placed the last punch cup. She clapped nonexistent dust off her fingers and stood back, placing her hands on her hips.

Together, the twenty some odd cups formed an admittedly crude but clear pumpkin shape.

It was good enough for a Stanford Pines party.

The man, or more appropriately, the devil, himself was on the other side of the room, busying himself with tacking up a game of pin the tail on the donkey. He ripped the hat from a crummy old witch decoration and tore off a length of tape with his teeth. The hat was placed over the donkey's head.

Alba rolled her eyes as she rearranged the chips to look neater. They slouched when she took her hands away. She gave up on them, like she'd given up on True Crime television, Soos' father, and hearing good things on the news.

"The streamers next?" she called, picking up a messy bundle of used streamers at the end of the table.

"You do that," he shouted back. "Had a fall this morning; these old legs couldn't take it."

He had been grumbling about the streamers since she'd found them in the box of decorations on the kitchen table. She'd gotten the ladder from a shed behind the Shack herself.

"Oh, and, uh, my cashier'll be in, like, twenty minutes, to lend a hand. We can, er, take it easy then." Stan tossed her a yellow smile Alba suspected was supposed to be roguish and charming.

"You useless man," she mumbled as she climbed the ladder in the center of the room. She dragged herself up with one arm, the streamers tucked under the other.

A panic spread as her right foot caught on the hem of her dress and she tumbled down. There was no chorus of angels but if there was, they would have risen up from just beyond the party table to let out a string of tense, staccato notes, followed by smooth, legato ones as she slammed into the wood paneling below. The streamers fell out of her grasp and flew in all directions. They seemed to float as gravity forgave them in a way that it could not forgive a denser, more woman shaped object.

Stan Pines swore loudly as he stumped across the room. So loud. He hovered over her, his huge stupid face blocking out the rest of the world.

"No ambulance," she huffed out, "Can't afford it."

* * *

"Gross," Raoul gagged as he looked down at the rotted ring of literal rat tails hidden behind the Fix-a-ria sign.

"Yeah, I kinda forgot about 'em. Guess I'm glad I didn't bring them home," Soos mused from his place in the dirt. He was sitting cross-legged, board in between himself and Amira.

She pulled her cardboard bat mask from her pumpkin and slipped it on, countering Raoul's weird look with "I don't know- it's just cool."

Raoul settled down.

Soos blinked at the six hands hovering over the planchette, before opening with "Hello, spirit dude."

Everything was quiet, even though the streetlights buzzed, the wind rustled, and woodpeckers bashed their head into trees. It felt quiet.

"Are you like… here?"

Their hands drifted in unison to Yes.

"Were you a person, like, ever?"

Yes.

"Are you a boy or a girl?" Raoul asked.

"Dude, you can't just ask that!" Amira protested, as their hands moved to the letters M-A-N.

"How did you die?" Amira asked.

I pause F-E-L-L.

"Oh." Soos looked down at their hands all piled up, took a breath, and formed his question. "Are you good?"

No.

"Dude!" Raoul gasped, "Then what do you want with Soos? He's great!"

Soos was about to thank Raoul for the vote of confidence as the planchette picked out more letters.

N-O-T-H-I-N-G.

"Then why are you following him?!" Amira demanded, looking nearly threatening in her bat mask.

N-O-T pause D-O-I-N-G pause T-H-A-T.

"Then… what do you want?" Soos asked, feeling like his face was as green as his dinosaur suit.

"I want to fix this town for good!" The gruff voice belonged to the blue figure who was pulling himself out of the Sam's Fix-a-ria sign. He held a hammer in both hands that would have been comically large in any situation that didn't involve him rushing towards them.

The creature roared and smashed the hammer to the ground. Possums hissed as trash rained down. Old Man McGucket's tin house, three kids, and a Ouija Board hung several inches in the air for a handful of seconds.

"RUN!"

* * *

"Happy Halloween, everybody! You're listening to KWZL," Freddy shouted as Stan turned the key. "It's a beautiful Thursday night, clear skies, a little nip in the air. I can see the crescent moon from the lovely skylight here in Hoo-Ha's stage and dinning area and, Weasel, it fills me up more than a belly full of candy ever could. Almost as much as Hoo-Ha's family pizza-soda-fry for $5.95 deal. I feel like anything could happen tonight."

"I, for one, think a Friday would be much scarier. It's just that Thursdays-" the Weasel started to retort, but a cacophony of animal screeching interrupted him, "Ahhh, bats! You were right, Freddy, it is a scary night for our annual Haunt-a-palooza live sesh here at Hoo-Ha's with popular gothic rock band Marcescence! Emma Lee, how are you doing tonight?"

"Ugh." Stan snapped off the radio and started driving.

"It is very… messy back here," Alba said quietly from the back seat, after several minutes of silence.

Stan snorted, "Shoulda called a limo if you wanted nice."

"I'm in a lot of pain."

He had been driving quickly but carefully (for him) and slowed down noticeably at this comment.

"No," Alba rattled and there was a sound of a seatbelt clicking. Stan couldn't imagine how it was wrapped around her prone form. "Please go faster."

* * *

A man who was most often called Snake Tattoo Guy, second often called Agent 13, and only ever called a common five letter name by his mother on Thanksgiving and the one or two days of Hanukkah he could get off from his busy and decidedly undercover day, night, and forever job found the Mystery Shack empty.

He fiddled with a duct taped mummy of a walkie talkie he'd found in the yard. It had been half-buried in leaves and he'd nearly stepped on it.

"Mr. Pines?" Snake Tattoo Guy drifted from room to room, finding each as empty as the last. Floorboards groaned under him and he decided to set up camp in the gift shop before he got too spooked by the empty house to be of any use.

"I'm real good at this," he said to no one, lowering himself gingerly into the stool behind the register. The recently duct taped and spray painted third leg groaned but did not give.

Snake Tattoo Guy leafed through his recipes to pass the time. His cookbook was fifty years old, and yellowing, the margins of one memorable apple bundt cake recipe darkened with line after line of neatly scrawled Morse Code.

He fiddled with his hearing aid, which was functional but doubled as what Soos would likely call "cool spy gear." A burst of feedback blasted into his ear, reminding him of the cheap walkie talkie that rested beside him on the table. The volume lowered. A dull and somewhat annoying crackling persisted for a minute before…

.-.. / - / - / -.-

L-O-O-K.

Snake Tattoo Guy sighed and closed his book, removing an odd device from his Be Keen, Go Green tote bag. He cranked the dial back and forth, his ears attuned to its various noises.

The floor's squeaking had nothing on the buzzing in his earpiece, but there was somewhat of a struggle for dominance as he lowered himself to the throw rug. The fibers scraped his cheek as he pressed into the woven All Seeing Eye. His sensor blip-beeping like a cash register on Black Friday. Not the Mystery Shack cash register. One from somewhere normal. A mall with three fountains and a black and white checkered floor.

He held his breath and considered how he would get underneath the floor without Mr. Pines noticing and could he do it now and-

Another ringing shifted the course of his night. He scuttled up and yanked the phone from its cradle.

"Hello? Is Soos there? We've got a, uh, we've got a problem over here."

* * *

Soos was wedged between the driver's and back seats of a busted car, Raoul inches from his face and Amira tucked under the glovebox. The ghost had given them chase until they were out of breath and they hid, trying to suck in air as quietly as possible.

"I don't think it cares about us, right now," Amira whispered, "I don't know about you guys, but I can't hear it anymore..."

Soos jumped as a beeping broke the silence.

"My walkie talkie?!' Raoul exclaimed, "But no one else has… you don't think?"

"Answer! Answer!" Amira hissed.

"Hello," Raoul swallowed. "Um, oh. Soos. It's- it's for you."

Soos' heart was probably visible, pushing up and down his fleece-covered chest.

"Mayonnaise Boy, that you?" Snake Tattoo Guy's gruff voice could have been a chorus of angels, as good as it sounded to Soos.

"Hello, sir! Is everything ok?"

"Well, I- I don't rightly think so. Mr. Pines just called and he said yer grandma fell on over trying to help 'im with his party. I'm sorry, Mayo, she's at th' hospital. I found yer walkie and 've been drivin' 'round tryin' to catch a signal on you. Sure glad I did. 'm at th' Dusk. Where're you at?"

It was the longest and worst thing Snake Tattoos Guy had ever said to him.

"We, uh, we'll meet you there, sir." Soos replied, "We have a- a problem, sir."

"What kind?"

"I'm sorry…"

"What is it?"

"A ghost. It's a ghost."

"Loud 'n clear, ranger. I can help ya with that. Come quick. Over."

Static screamed in Soos' ear as Snake Tattoos Guy's voice disappeared.

"Soos, Soos! What's wrong?" Raoul reached across the car to press a hand against his shoulder.

"I- I… I think the ghost got Abuelita, guys."

It was a stupid thing to think of, curled up with his legs getting scraped by the litter all over the car floor, and some ghostly weirdo out there in the loud-silent night, but he really wanted to take the bit about messing up out of Soos' Guide to Fixin' Stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in October and absolutely hated it. I had a couple story thought breakthroughs and I think it works better with the theme/ending I'm leading it to. Sorry the Action bits are kinda rushed I'm so bad at that but I kept the ghost stuff terse to make it clear that currently the ghost is disinterested in Soos. 
> 
> I think it's okay now but I think this fic will always be a little patchwork and wonky because I wasn't reaching for an ending before a year or so ago. Now it's working to have a story/character arc. I hope it works. I feel bad about not committing to Stan's bit because I wrote it when We Knew Nothing and didn't want to be wrong........ but now I'm heading toward something and I hope you like it!

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me if you feel anything in this is stereotyping or uncomfortable for you. Please. I realize that the portrayal of these characters in Gravity Falls itself can be pretty icky sometimes and I do not want to produce a racist, ableist, or stereotypical work. 
> 
> I'm drawing a lot for this story from my own experience growing up in a poor catholic household. However, I'm white and cannot speak for the experiences of latinx individuals. Please tell me if I mess up on something. 
> 
> I'm also mentally ill and will incorporate that into the story as well. But I am trying not to rely on stereotypes in this respect as well. It's not fair to say I'm neurodivergent in one way, thus I can represent all others. I'm often uncomfortable especially with the portrayal of McGucket in canon and fanworks and am trying to add my own perspective to his issues. However, I still might mess up. Tell me if I do.


End file.
